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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672806">i know we're friends but i also really want to make out with you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/guccieyelash/pseuds/guccieyelash'>guccieyelash</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream Team - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coming Out, Completed, Depression, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Gay, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, I'm Sorry, Idiots, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Minecraft, Slow Burn, Usage of real names, being outed, for karlnap, i didn't mean for it to be lmao, it's a rollercoaster, kind of?, not written out though</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:49:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,566</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/guccieyelash/pseuds/guccieyelash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The sound of his name coming out of the brunette’s mouth sent shivers down his spine. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine him saying it. Imagine the little smile he made after he or Sapnap said something dumb, the little quirk in his lips after rolling his eyes. The way he toyed with his hands when he felt uncomfortable, the keyboard clicking as his in-game character jumped around. </p><p>or </p><p>Clay and George love each other and have to deal with it lol. Also, Karlnap is there too.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexis | Quackity &amp; Karl Jacobs, Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>121</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>714</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i just want to preface this fic with a lil author's note: </p><p>everyone mentioned or written in this fic, including people that have only mentioned once or twice, are strictly CHARACTERS. please don't shove fanfics down content creator's throats, because that's just weird. i don't ship them in real life, i ship their characters. there's a big difference. </p><p>happy reading :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Alright guys, I think I’m going to end the stream after these last few messages come in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched as George smiled into the camera, reading out the last donations, most of which were just fans asking for “I love you’s” or whatnot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you Katie for the fifteen dollar donation!” George read aloud. “Can you say ‘I love you’ to my friend Dr— Oh I see what you’re doing here.” The brunette grinned and shook his head, tapping his pointer finger to his temple. “I’ve gotten smarter, I’m not falling for your tricks anymore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap snorted on the other end of the line, “Someone’s going to get you to say it one day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, they aren’t. Alyssa, thank you for the five gifted subs!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes they will,” Sapnap groaned as he stretched. “Right, Dream?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay stirred as he tore his eyes away from the monitor on his right, focusing on the game on the screen in front of him, “Say what?” His voice came out raspy from the disuse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course he’s not paying attention.” Sapnap yawned, “Well, I’m heading off. Goodnight!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Discord chimed as Sapnap left, seemingly taking all the energy with him. George read his last donation and waved goodbye to the viewers, saying something about the next stream. Clay watched as it ended, the good-bye message glaring back at him. It annoyed him, and he didn’t exactly know why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream? Are you there?” George’s voice echoed in his headphones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cleared his throat again, latching onto George’s voice as it pulled him out of the murky waters of his head. “Yeah— Sorry. Patches was just uh… She was distracting me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” George quieted for a moment before speaking again. “Are you feeling alright, Clay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of his name coming out of the brunette’s mouth sent shivers down his spine. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine him saying it. Imagine the little smile he made after he or Sapnap said something dumb, the little quirk in his lips after rolling his eyes. The way he toyed with his hands when he felt uncomfortable, the keyboard clicking as his in-game character jumped around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m alright. Just one of those days, I guess…” he trailed off. Reality set in again as he opened his eyes, murky green meeting the light emitting from the computer screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George hummed in understanding. Clay heard his chair creak as his friend assumingly leaned back in it. “I get it. I wasn’t in the best mood today, either.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talk to me about it.” A small pang of worry echoed in his chest as the man on the call sighed into his mic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t anything important… It’s just been hard y’know? There’s been a lot of things happening all at once and it’s very— Whatever. It’s not serious. Um, what’s been going on with you?” George quieted as if he were thinking about what he was going to say next. Clay idly wondered what was making George so anxious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He realized that it was his turn to speak. Clay looked around, searching for another lie to spin to excuse his behavior, “Well, nothing specific really. I’ve just been confused about some things and it’s frustrating, I guess. Nothing too bad.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” George yawned. “I’m getting pretty tired, even though it’s like, four in the afternoon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally, a change in the subject. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your sleep schedule’s so messed up!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite his statement, Clay let out a yawn of his own. He’d gotten up earlier than usual to film for his channel, and he realized that George must’ve lost more sleep than he normally would’ve because of him. Guilt dripped from his heart as the brunette muttered something about needing to wake up early again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s synced with yours because I didn’t feel like getting up in the middle of the night to record with you and Sapnap.” George retorted. Clay could almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear </span>
  </em>
  <span>the eye-roll that probably came with the response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I just noticed. Did you do that on purpose?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, it just happened on default. We started talking so much that it became easier for me to run on America-time than to wake up in the middle of the night to stream with you. It’s not as accurate though… We should do a sleep-call with Nick and so the three of us can all be on the same schedule.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let out a laugh at the thought of Sapnap and him making fun of George for sleeping-talking, “We should. Forty-eight-hour live stream so we can make money easily?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George chuckled tiredly on the other end, “I don’t think I could survive being sober for an entire forty-eight-hour stream. I’d have to get drunk like half-way through it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay raised an eyebrow even though no one was there to see it, “Who says you can’t?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A drunk stream?” George says it like he was actually contemplating it, which slightly worried Clay. “Alright.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He froze, “Wait— Really?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah? I mean we could just put whatever drink it is in a solid-colored bottle, and like I dunno, just tell them that’s it’s special juice or whatever. Like, to imply that it isn’t water, but not enough so we get banned or something.” George paused for a minute, “But I’m not getting drunk on stream alone! You have to do it with me. Nick can be the designated driver or whatever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay let out another laugh at that, this time being harder than the last. “Designated driver for a stream?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, someone needs to stay sober so we don’t get ourselves canceled or whatever on stream. And since Sapnap can’t drink…” George dragged the word out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen,” he shuddered at the thought of potentially ending his career due to a slip-up whilst being under the influence. “Who are we kidding? Nick would egg us on or something, he wouldn’t do anything to help!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George snorted, “True!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A clatter echoed from George’s end of the call, resulting in a string of swears leaving his mouth. A second, slightly softer crash ran out again, coaxing out another line of curses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is everything alright, George?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groaned, “Yeah, my cat just knocked over like everything I have in my room— Oh don’t look at me like that, you know what you did!” Clay wheezed as George fumed. “Whatever. Anyway, I’m tired and I have to go fix everything now. Goodnight, Clay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight George.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room blackened once he shut off his computer. His eyes had started to get sore from sitting in front of the screen all day, and a nagging hunger was sitting in his stomach. He groaned, rubbing his palms over his face as he tried shaking off the feeling that George left with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way he felt when George said his name wasn’t normal, it wasn’t something that friends do. And that’s what they always will be. Friends. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this chapter is very short, and it's only because i'm using it as an introduction/start to the story. just to test the waters. feel free to leave comments, thank you for checking it out!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Is it normal if you want to kiss your friends? </p>
<p>If you want to grab them and pull them close, press your lips to theirs, and mutter in their ear about how much you love them? If you want to fly all across the fucking world just to hug them, just to touch them ONE goddamn time? </p>
<p>Because Clay has started to consider going to a therapist to find out what was wrong with him. </p>
<p>He’d never felt this strongly about <em> anyone </em>, let alone of his best friends. He can’t fucking stop thinking about George. About how much he wants to look at him, and not just through a screen. He can’t stop wondering what he would smell like, how he would sound without a microphone separating the two of them. How his skin would feel, what it would be like to run his hand through George’s locks. </p>
<p>
  <em> What the fuck?  </em>
</p>
<p>Clay could swear he felt completely normal when it came to George just yesterday. Sure, he’d thought about how George would fit in his arms perfectly once or twice, but that could just be platonic, right? </p>
<p>Yes, that’s all it was. Platonic. </p><hr/>
<p>Despite being considerably famous on the internet, Clay’s real-life schedule was as boring as it could get. </p>
<p>He’d wake up (which was already a struggle), feed his cat, feed himself, workout, take a shower, and then laze around for the rest of the day until he deemed it appropriate to start filming. </p>
<p>
  <em> I should start streaming again.  </em>
</p>
<p>He put the idea aside, deeming it unimportant. The next twenty minutes went similar to this routine, suggestion after suggestion entering his mind only to be set aside by his terrible procrastination habits.</p>
<p>His eyes caught sight of the T.V. remote sitting across from him on the expensive coffee table he once bought on a whim. He slowly clicked through the channels, praying for something interesting enough to get his mind off of real-life. </p>
<p>His phone rang, once, twice, and then three times before the caller decided to give up. A notification rang on his phone, reminding Clay that Sapnap had started streaming. Discord chimed four times before his phone finally died, gracing the room with a serenity he never knew he could appreciate. </p>
<p>His eyelids started to get heavy as the Australian man on the T.V. explained about coral reefs. Patches meowed in what sounded like disappointment, but he couldn’t get enough energy to care. </p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He found himself immersed in a body of water, floating in every and no direction. His movements were sluggish, and his thought process even slower.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Where are we, Clay?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> George appeared in front of him. He looked as graceful as the seaweed dancing in the sand below them. Face bright, eyes even brighter. Had he always looked this perfect?  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I don’t know where we are.” His voice was empty. It was too loud but too soft. Nothing made sense.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I think you do,” George swam towards him. How did he do it so well?  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Are we in my head?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The brunette didn’t answer. He only came closer. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “George, you didn’t answer me.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> George’s face morphed from it’s serenity to a beautiful sadness. He lifted a ghostly hand and cupped Clay’s face with it. His skin was wet and dry. It felt soft. He hopes it doesn’t move.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Clay, when will you tell me the truth?” George’s voice echoed even though he floated so close.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Which truth?” He knew which truth. He just didn’t want to admit it. Why was it so hard to say?  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> George simply traced his thumb over Clay’s features. It felt so good. He wanted more, why did he want more?  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Say it to me, Clay. Tell me.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I can’t.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> George smiled in pity. A tear dripped down his cheek even though they were in water. Why was George crying? Why was he smiling?  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Don’t cry,” Clay’s voice came out in a whisper. He reached his own hand out to brush away the tear. The drop dissolved into his thumb. Where did it go?  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Tell me, Clay. Tell me what you feel. I promise I’ll say it back.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “You promise?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> George nodded. His hair floated around his head like a halo. Are water angels real? If not, George is the first.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I love you.” If he could feel his heart it would be beating out of his chest.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I love you too.” George laughed. It sounded beautiful. He wanted to capture it and put it in a bottle. He wanted to get drunk on it. Pour it in a glass every day and drink it like wine.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Now you have to do it again,” George’s grip on Clay’s body loosened until it didn’t exist. He started floating away from him. Why was he leaving him?  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I love you.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Not like that, silly. We both know where you have to say it again, how you have to say it.” He was getting dangerously far.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I love you! I love you, I love you, I love you! Please, don’t go!” His voice got softer and softer with every cry.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Not like that, Clay. Not like that.” George’s voice echoed. It was too loud. It was too soft. Clay’s body got hot. He was freezing. His eyes burned. He was crying. How was he crying in a body of water?  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “George, come back!” No sound came out of his mouth.  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for all the kudos on the last chapter! again, as i wrote in the preface of the fic: there's no strict schedule to this story. just to give you all an idea on the situation, i'm writing this story and then immediately uploading it to ao3. this, i'll admit, isn't the best process, but fuck it. </p>
<p>i've also realized that this whole "clay seeing george in a dream" thing is very similar to heat waves, and i just want to say, I'M SORRY. i promise, i did not want to make it look like i plagiarized off of them, and i just want you to know that this chapter WAS my own idea. the fact that it took place in a dream just happened to have been the same as heatwaves, so i want to say that this isn't based on that fic. i promise that the rest of this story won't be as similar to it. </p>
<p>again, thank you for the kudos! comments are VERY appreciated.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clay’s breath came out in loud puffs as he tried to calm his heart’s beating. His body still felt like it was still burning, and George’s words were ringing in his ears. </p>
<p>
  <em> What the hell?  </em>
</p>
<p>That dream— Hallucination— Was something that he’d never experienced in his entire life. It felt so fucking <em> real </em>. It still felt real, George’s hand holding Clay’s face, the way he had brushed his thumbs across his features… He wanted it back. He wanted it all to happen again. </p>
<p>But then the smarter, more reasonable part of his brain warned him that whatever he saw in his head was fucking terrifying. Why was George in his dream? Why did he want him to say— </p>
<p>Clay was done dwelling on his stupid hallucinations. There was no way he actually loved George, right? He was his best friend, and the last person he talked to since yesterday. He fell asleep during an ocean documentary, this was just his brain trying to sort things out. He didn’t love George, and George didn’t love him. </p><hr/>
<p>If it were easy, Clay would’ve avoided talking to George as much as he could. But that would be too simple, wouldn’t it? </p>
<p>He’d finally charged his phone after leaving it dead for the whole day, finding multiple calls from Sapnap and a plethora of angry text messages. He was still dazed from his little rendezvous with dream-George and decided that an angry Sapnap was better than a sexuality crisis. </p>
<p>“Oh, so <em> now </em> he’s decided to call back,” Sapnap answered the phone, speaking pointedly as Clay tried to laugh everything off. “Y’know, I got worried. I thought you <em> died </em>. I mean, I texted you like a million times, and what? No answer!” </p>
<p>He winced. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! My phone was dead and I just forgot to charge it—”</p>
<p>“—How do you forget to charge the one thing that basically keeps you in a job?” Sapnap yelled. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry!” He’d started to laugh at Sapnap’s anger, which resembled one of a child throwing a tantrum. </p>
<p>A series of crinkles came from the other end of the call. Sapnap’s voice came out muffled and thick as he chewed on something, “I was so worried… I tried texting George and he was all like ‘I think you’re overreacting, he’s probably just busy’ I mean, what is it with you two? I was out here stress eating while George was trying to calm me down!” </p>
<p>Clay wheezed again, “You’re an idiot Sapnap, stress eating because I didn’t talk to you for like what— Ten hours? I might have to start calling you Clingynap from now on.” </p>
<p>“Whatever.” </p>
<p>Clay used a snooty British accent as he teased his friend, “Alright, alright. What can I do to make it up to you, m’Lady?” </p>
<p>Sapnap scoffed, “What about going live or something? I keep getting stupid donations about it and it’s getting annoying.” </p>
<p>“Live? That’s too much work,” he whined. “What am I even supposed to do? I’m not in the mood for speedrunning, and there’s probably no one on the SMP.” </p>
<p>“I don’t care, you just have to go live. George is probably still awake too, and he’s not streaming so now you have the both of us.”  </p>
<p>
  <em> Talking to George is the one thing I don’t want, Sapnap.  </em>
</p>
<p>“Fine. Give me a minute, will you?” </p>
<p>Sapnap laughed evilly, “I’ll get George!” The line went silent as Clay reluctantly went and set up his P.C. for streaming. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Being friends with someone you’re helplessly in love with isn’t as hard as people think it is. Or, it isn’t very difficult for George. </p>
<p>You see, the majority of George’s life revolves around Clay. Wake up when he wakes up, run around the house to get ready so he streams around the same time as Clay, scroll on social media to keep up the retention, it’s all revolving around him. Hell, he’s even started to eat around the same time as Clay just because it makes life the slightest bit easier. </p>
<p>To be honest, it’s tiring. It wears him out, living his life to be synced with another’s. But being in love with Clay is what makes it worth it. Waking up at ungodly hours at the night so he can hear Clay’s cute little greetings, eating at the same time so they can speak about their meals, streaming at the same time so they can spend just a few extra hours together. There’s a point to it all. </p>
<p>Which is why George finally exhaled this morning when he realized he hadn’t been called to film. At first, it worried him. Almost five consecutive months of working together at the crack of dawn, and then suddenly no word from him? It’s a little off-putting, to be honest. He’d contemplated calling him just to make sure everything was alright, but judging from Sapnap’s nervous texts, he assumed that Nick had everything handled. </p>
<p>Today he spent an extra ten minutes in the shower, trying out whatever soaps he had laying around. He made an effort with his lunch, and he enjoyed it thoroughly. He called his family, cleaned his house, watered his plants, hell, even sat down and used the Netflix subscription he wasted ten pounds on every month. He went outside, which he’s embarrassed to say hadn’t happened in god knows how long. He lived his life like a normal human, for once. </p>
<p>His favorite thing he did, however, was make music again. He’d plugged his electric guitar into its amp, and he sat down for more than an hour just to sing to himself alone in his house. Whatever song he heard on the radio, whatever was stuck in his head, he sang it all out. Towards the end, he was met with his fingers hurting from strumming and his neighbors complaining about all the noise. </p>
<p>He loved Clay, he really did. But loving him was something he hated. He hated being so far from him, he hated that he needed to change his entire living style just so he could talk to him, he hated that the only times he could hear his voice was through a microphone. He wanted Clay. </p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hello everyone!” George watched as Clay’s viewers climbed higher and higher. In under five minutes, he was at nearly one hundred thousand people watching, which filled George with a sense of pride for Clay so big he let out a happy sigh. </p>
<p>Clay was so <em> deserving </em>of his fame and success. He couldn’t think of anyone better to take his place. </p>
<p>The chat went impossibly fast, but he could make out the thousands of greetings their fans typed out. </p>
<p>“I don’t really have anything planned today, I kind of just threw everything together and went live. But what I do have, are George and Sapnap!” Clay’s voice filled his ears as the three of them logged on to the game. </p>
<p>Nothing planned? George had never once seen a day where Clay streamed without being prepared. Something must’ve happened, and Sapnap had his name written all over it. </p>
<p>“Hey, guys!” Sapnap snickered into his mic, confirming George’s suspicion that the black-haired man had something to do with Clay going live out of nowhere. </p>
<p>“Hello Sapnap, hello Dream,” George replied. He felt free today, like he’d shed multiple multiple pounds off his skin. </p>
<p>“Hey George,” Clay replied quickly. Sapnap punched George’s in-game character as a greeting. </p>
<p>“Do you really not have a plan for today?” George raised an eyebrow even though no one saw it. </p>
<p>A sigh came from the other end, followed by a slight groan, “Nope. I was hoping you two had any clue.” </p>
<p>George hummed in thought as Sapnap listed ideas all of which Clay declined. Finally, after a minute of Sapnap and Clay arguing, George struck gold, “What about what we were talking about last night? The stream idea?” </p>
<p>Silence came Clay’s end before a thud came from the microphone, “Fuck it! Pick your poison, George. It’s time for a drunk stream!” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>another chapter! i'm on a streak, how long do you think i can keep up the daily updates? anyway, i hope you guys enjoyed this lil piece in George's point of view!! i promise i'll try making them longer :( but just so you guys know, lengthier chapters = longer stretches between updates. </p>
<p>comments are VERY appreciated, thank you all for the kudos! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One thing Clay knows for sure is that his high IQ didn’t transfer over to real life. </p><p>Agreeing to a drunk stream out of nowhere, without zero preparation for any consequences? What the hell was he thinking? If he loses himself under alcohol too much, he could either say something stupid and end his career or fucking out himself to the entire internet, promptly ruining his friendship with George. He couldn’t tell which instance was worse. </p><p>“Drunk stream?” Sapnap asked. “Does that mean I have to look after you fools?” </p><p>“Looks like it.” clinks of metal chimed from George’s mic as he poured shots for himself. </p><p>“Just to preface,” Clay poured a glass of his own drink. “Are we going until we’re both passing out, or just on the <em> verge </em>of passing out?” </p><p>“Let’s be responsible,” George snickered. “On the verge of passing out.” </p><p>“Sounds great,” he muttered. This was just what he needed to fuel his inward battle with himself.  </p><p>“You guys are actual idiots,” Sapnap punched both of their characters for extra emphasis. “I swear, if you get canceled tomorrow it’s not my fault!” </p><p>“You’re supposed to stop us from getting canceled!” He’d really dug himself into a hole with this one, hadn’t he? </p><p>“We’re not getting canceled,” George assured them. “Anyway, are you ready, Dream?”  </p><p>
  <em> No.  </em>
</p><p>“Let’s drink on three,” Clay raised the glass to his lips. “One… Two… Three!” </p><p>He grimaced as the liquid burned his throat as it traveled through his body. He was already one shot in and over the whole experience. This night would prove itself to be long.  </p><p>“How are you feeling?” Sapnap broke the silence. </p><p>“I’m feeling great,” George answered. He sounded unfazed, which made no sense seeing as George was not of average weight. </p><p>“Let’s take another and then get to playing.” Clay drank another shot, internally praying that George was a lightweight. </p><p>Another clink came from George’s end before he started moving again in the game. “Let’s build a big ass castle right in front of L’Manburg!” </p><p>Sanap snickered in the background as they followed the blue character.</p><p>Four shots of vodka and one ugly looking castle later, he could officially say that he was drunk. His hands didn’t match the pace of his brain, and there was a weird ringing in his ear. He was unbelievably hungry, but he didn’t trust himself to get up and walk to the kitchen for a meal. </p><p>George wasn’t at his best either. He’d been laughing over some random joke Sapnap had said fifteen minutes ago, and every few moments or so he knocked something off of his table. He’d also started singing quietly to himself. Clay liked it very much. </p><p>“George, you should get your guitar,” he drawled, moving his character dangerously close to a fire pit. </p><p>“My guitar?” Something banged against the desk, presumably his bottle, before the chair squeaked again. “What should I sing?” </p><p>“I don’t know,” Clay giggled as he drew the word out. “Do you have an idea, Sappy Nappy?” George broke into a fit of laughter, which made him bubble inside happily. </p><p>“I like when you laugh, George.” His voice was soft, and a very small, weak part of his brain told him to clean up his act. But George giggled when he complimented him and a happy George made life worth living. </p><p>“I like it when you make me laugh.” The brunet started strumming clumsily on his electric guitar, a song messily forming with the notes. After a bit, a tune started shaping together. “<em> Candy, he’s sweet like candy in my veins.”  </em></p><p>Clay closed his eyes and set his head on his desk, letting George’s voice wash over him. His singing was like a siren’s, the way it flowed into his ears, clogged his senses, leading him closer and closer towards him. </p><p>“George, isn’t it supposed to be <em> ‘she’s </em>sweet like candy in my veins,’ not ‘he?’” Sapnap asked. </p><p>George stopped singing, causing Clay to drop out of his trance and pay attention to whatever words entered his head through the alcohol. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“George, isn’t it supposed to be <em> ‘she’s </em>sweet like candy in my veins,’ not ‘he?’” Sapnap interrupted his singing. </p><p>
  <em> Uh oh.  </em>
</p><p>He stopped playing, setting down his electric guitar and facing the discord call again. Alarm signals were blaring in his head, but they sounded muffled, like someone covered them up with multiple layers of sticky material. </p><p>He let out a drunken chuckle, “I mean— Yeah. But what’s the fun in lying about who we love?” </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“...But what’s the fun in lying about who we love?” </p><p>Clay was paying attention <em> very </em>much now. Who did George love? Who was he lying to? </p><p>He grabbed his mic and brought it down to his lips, whispering into it like he was telling someone a secret, “Who do you love, George?” </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Who do you love, George?” </p><p>Clay’s whisper shouldn’t have sent those shivers down George’s spine. That powerful feeling of <em> want </em>that filled his body shouldn’t have happened. </p><p>“I’ll give you three good guesses,” George muttered back, voice thick with lust. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Who do you love, George?” </p><p>
  <em>This can't be good. </em>
</p><p>“I’ll give you three good guesses.” </p><p>Why was Sapnap always the one who got stuck in these situations? The chat was starting to go crazy and #drunkdreamteam was already trending on Twitter. Clay and George were on the verge of outing their mutual love for each other, and it was up to Sapnap to somehow end the stream. </p><p>He turned the volume on his mic as loud as it could go, putting a voice changer onto his mic for good measure, “Alright! I think we’re on the verge of passing out! Let’s end the stream, shall we?” </p><p>A clatter came from both of their ends before Clay defeaned on Discord. George stayed for a moment, leaving after saying goodnight to Nick. He had stayed online for another fifteen minutes, making sure his friend had properly ended the Twitch stream. </p><p>He contemplated calling the both of them to make sure they were alright, but he’d had enough of Clay and George for a lifetime. </p><p>He was already getting tired and was still on edge from the fiasco that had happened a few minutes prior. His mood lifted, however, when his phone started to ring.</p><p>He lifted it to his ear, “Karl?” </p><p>“Who else would it be, dummy?” Karl’s sarcastic voice sounded into Nick’s room. </p><p>He rolled his eyes, yawning into the phone, “Very funny.” </p><p>“I know you’re tired, it’s getting pretty late. Just wanted to make sure you were alright after what happened.” </p><p>“Was it that obvious?” He tried to ignore the way his heart quickened at the thought of his boyfriend worrying about him. </p><p>Karl snorted, “Well, not too much. Twitter thinks the two nimrods hate each other, which is going to be funny for them to see in the morning. I think if people we actually know were listening in to the stream, they would probably catch onto their drift.” </p><p>He groaned, “I shouldn’t have asked why he changed the stupid words. We could’ve just played it off as them being stupid and drunk. I feel guilty.” </p><p>“Why is that?” Karl’s bedsheets rustled over the phone. </p><p>“Well, George basically outed himself on stream. What was it he said?” </p><p>“Why would you lie about the person you love… Something along the lines of that, I guess,” Karl answered. </p><p>“Yeah. I mean, it was my job to look after them.” he shook his head, trying to clear his mind from its sleep-addled thoughts. </p><p>“Don’t worry about it, Nick. There was virtually no way for you to prevent anything really bad from happening, and you <em> did </em>stop the situation from getting way worse than it could’ve. To be honest, it was dumb of them to do a drunk stream with no preparation. But you never know. Maybe it was meant to happen,” Karl sneezed towards the end of his sentence. </p><p>“Meant to happen? Bless you, by the way.” </p><p>“Thanks— The universe works in strange ways, Nick. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.” </p><p>He sighed, “You’re probably right.”</p><p>“I always am,” Karl giggled softly. </p><p>“You’re an idiot, you know that?” </p><p>“I’m your idiot.” </p><p>He couldn’t stop the fond smile that crept up on his face after that sentence. He was glad they were on a call. A <em>FaceTime </em>would’ve been too embarrassing, “Well, it’s getting late and I think I’m going to need a full night’s rest to sort out whatever shambles Twitter’s gotten itself into.”<br/>
“Goodnight, babe. Love you!” </p><p>“Love you too, Karl.” </p><p>Sapnap laid his head down onto his pillows, rolling his eyes into the dark as he silently cursed his two best friends. Why was it always him?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>happy thanksgiving to those in America! </p><p>seems like my 'posting-everyday-streak' has finally ended 😔😔 i hope you all are liking the story, so far! i'm going to try finishing the next chapter today, so i can either post in the afternoon or post tomorrow. we'll see, don't take my word for it though. </p><p>i added a bit of karlnap into this for some spice, which is why the relationships tag was updated today, too. </p><p>happy reading! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>George woke up to a half-empty bottle of vodka, his electric guitar balancing dangerously from his chair, the feeling of death, and a bounty of apologetic text messages. His clothes were strewn across the floor of his room, and his body was draped across the edge of his bed, slowly falling the longer he laid there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The events of last night were still murky in his head, but he could clearly remember outing himself to the thousands of people on Clay’s stream. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Twitter’s probably having a field day, right now. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite his brain telling him not to, George grabbed his phone from where it had fallen last night and opened Twitter. He was immediately bombarded with three different hashtags, all of them pertaining to him being drunk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sapnap was apparently under fire for ‘prying’ George, which was absolute bullshit. He shut down the rumor right away, replying to as many Tweets about the matter that he could. Clay was being canceled for being under the influence on stream without preparation, which he had already responded to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the last, the hashtag he dreaded the most. #GeorgeNotFoundOuted was staring right back at him through his phone screen, red blaring lights flashing as he scrolled through Tweet after Tweet. Other influencers were Tweeting their respects, using no names however implying heavily into who they were speaking about. Subscribers and fans were showing their support, posts varying from congratulations to people begging others not to talk about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tears had already started to form in his eyes, from happiness or defeat, he couldn’t tell. One on end of the stick, he was glad that his fans supported his sexuality, that they still loved him. On the other end, however, he felt so broken. This wasn’t how he wanted to tell people, how he wanted the public to find out. The secret coming out while he was drunk? On some stream that’ll end up being a taboo for the rest of his life? That’s not what he had ever imagined, what he had wished for. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Clay. His sweet, beloved Clay. He didn’t deserve the hate he was getting, he didn’t deserve having to deal with angry people mobbing his socials. And he must’ve felt so shitty last night when George had started being all… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This needs to end. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Functioning only on impulse, George pulled up the camera on his phone, taking a picture of his tear-stained eyes. They were red around the rims, water filling up around the edges. It almost looked planned, the tear tracks perfectly fell down his cheeks, which weirded him out a bit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He uploaded the photo to Twitter and added the caption: ‘can we all just stay out of my personal business for like two days? i’m not angry at anyone, please just calm down.’ George looked it over for a minute, adding his trademark smiley face at the end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closed the app, pulling up Clay’s phone number. One, two, three rings before he accepted the call, a small sigh coming through the other end. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, Clay.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, Clay.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite how terrible Clay felt, George’s soft voice emitting from the phone speaker calmed his senses. He let it wash over him, wiping away all the memories from last night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, George.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The brunet laughed sadly, taking a deep breath before answering again, “I just wanted to say sorry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For what?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean— It’s obvious, isn’t it? For… Whatever happened last night, and just all the shit you’re getting on Twitter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Did George really blame himself? George? Beautiful, angelic George? The George who called at night to make sure he was feeling alright? The one who changed the way he lived his whole life so Clay could be a little less stressed? The man who always walked on his toes to make sure people didn’t feel left out, the one who made sure people didn’t mess with his friends? He really blamed </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh god, no! George,” Clay slapped a palm to his face. “Don’t blame yourself! This was completely my fault. It was stupid that we fucking got drunk on stream. That I even considered the idea in the first place.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Surely you’re not going to take the blame for this entire thing?” The disbelief in George’s voice was so clear that he took a second to reassess all of his decisions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why wouldn’t I?”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>gave </span>
  </em>
  <span>you the idea, you idiot! This is just as much my fault that it is yours!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>your fault!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then it isn’t your fault, either!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clay quieted for a moment, trying to lessen the load of the guilt that hung from his heart, “George. What happened on my stream, what caused everything that happened to you…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>outed myself. You didn’t. It might’ve been on your stream, but it should’ve been something that I looked over before agreeing to it.” George took another breath, “I don’t want you to go around thinking that you’re the cause of all this. Because you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I know you’re still going to think you are.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He decided to ignore the last two lines. “So it’s true then? You’re actually—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not straight? Yeah,” George confirmed bitterly. “I’m gay.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A little glimmer of hope ignited itself in Clay’s chest. “I still love you the same, George. I hope you don’t think that we’ll think of you any different.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, Clay.” He paused like he was thinking about what to say next, but he didn’t speak. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I uh— I’ve got to go take care of some business. Talk to you later?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The line cut out. He buried his face in his hands, trying to fight the smile that broke through. There was a chance, even if it was small, that George liked him back. There was a possibility that Clay would be able to talk to George about how much he loves him, about how much he wanted to be with him. There’s a chance that he’d be able to </span>
  <em>
    <span>touch </span>
  </em>
  <span>George. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nick?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He braced himself for this conversation, going over the possible ways he could apologize to George. Karl had told him to be gentle with everything, which worried him because Nick was far from being a gentle person. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“George I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry for literally everything that happened yesterday. I shouldn’t have asked why you changed the—” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sapnap—” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We could’ve just played it off as you being drunk. I should’ve tried harder at not—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nick, I don’t—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And now it’s trending on Twitter—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nick!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shut up, realizing that he’d been speaking over George this entire time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you done talking now?” George’s tired voice sounded from the mic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let out a shaky breath, embarrassed for the way he’d acted, “Yes, I am.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not mad at you, Nick.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not,” George sighed. “I hate that people are blaming you for all of this. Please, it’s not your fault. It’s mine, it was my responsibility.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It wasn’t your fault George,” he groaned. Why were his friends so stupid? “You shouldn’t have felt like you needed to hide something like that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I know. Comfortable in your own skin, blah, blah, blah,” George interrupted. “I’ve seen more than enough Tweets.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s important you know that, George.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. I know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nick stopped talking for a minute, going over the idea in his head. He and Karl were very much still in the closet, since they’d both agreed to keep their relationship a secret until they were both ready. George was feeling a bit down about everything, and knowing that someone felt the same way he did might help him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck it. Karl would understand, wouldn’t he?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“George, I’m going to tell you something right now, and you need to promise me that you won’t tell anyone.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” Worry colored the brunet’s voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For the past three months, Karl and I have been dating.” The air stilled as he waited for George’s reaction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait— Really?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. We didn’t really tell anyone since he wanted to wait. I just figured I’d tell you because, y’know…” Nick wasn’t the best with words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I— Nick, that’s amazing! Congrats, I guess? I don’t know what to say,” George let out a breathy chuckle. “You really haven’t told anyone?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not one person. Well, except for you, now. Which is why…” He dragged the word out, hoping George would get the memo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh god, of course. Your secret is safe with me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks. I uh— I’ve got to go deal with Twitter.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bye Nick!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bye.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Now it’s time to tell Karl. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hi guys!! thank you for the support on the last chapter! i tried getting this one out to y'all as quick as possible hehe &lt;3 writing multiple P.O.Vs is harder than i thought lololol. </p>
<p>just to let you guys know, the next chapter might have some stronger, homophobic language (don't worry, i'm bi) so if you guys aren't comfortable with that, this is a lil TW in advance. i'll have another one when i actually finish and upload it, but i thought it'd be good to let you know now. </p>
<p>comments and kudos are appreciated! i love you guys :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: <br/>/<br/>/<br/>/<br/>/</p><p>homophobia and homophobic language are mentioned once or twice in this chapter. read at your own risk.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Karl had been juggling how to tell people about him and his boyfriend for so long that he’d almost given up. </p><p>It was so nerve-racking, not knowing how people would react, how many people he’d lose. Some nights he freaked himself out so bad that he lost sleep, having to call people for reassurance. </p><p>And then there was Nick. <em> His </em>Nick. </p><p>He’d never thought that he’d ever share the same feelings Karl had, forget dating him. Nick had been so wonderful to him, so patient with his feelings, never overstepping anything. He’d even make sure to call back after streams ended, making sure that he hadn’t crossed any boundaries. He was thoughtful about everything. </p><p>Karl knew. He knew that Nick was itching to come out of the closet. He’d always talked about how much he hated it, hated feeling like he was caged in all the time. Karl hated it too. He just didn’t know why it freaked him out so much.</p><p>He’d never had any direct run-ins with homophobia, and no one had ever mentioned it to him. He knew for a fact that his best friends like Chris wouldn’t ever abandon him like that. It just fucking messed with him and he didn’t know why.  </p><p>George’s situation last night really put things into perspective with him. It was a wake-up call. If he didn’t do it now, someone else would do it for him. <em> He </em>wanted to be the one to tell the public. Not some random idiot on the internet. </p><p>His phone rang in the middle of his breakfast, a smile creeping up onto his face when he read the name on the screen. </p><p>“Goodmorning, Nick,” Karl said in a sing-song voice. </p><p>“Karl!” He replied, mocking his tone. Karl giggled as he took a sip of his juice. </p><p>“What’s up? You’re up early today.” </p><p>“Yeah, I didn’t get the best sleep last night. I actually had to tell you something.” </p><p>“Same here,” Karl replied. “I had to speak to you about us.” </p><p>Nick’s voice faltered for a second, “Oh. You go first, then. What’s wrong?” </p><p>“Don’t be worried, it’s nothing bad,” he listened for the sigh of relief that followed his words, speaking again once he heard it. “I just wanted to talk about us, like, telling people. I know that you’ve wanted to y’know, come out, and I think everything that happened with George just— It just really hit me.” </p><p>“What do you mean?” Nick coughed quietly on the other end of the line. </p><p>“I just realized how much of a precious secret it is, and it’s important that <em> we’re </em>the ones to tell it. I mean, what happened with him— It was so fast. Under twenty minutes it was trending, and now everyone knows about it. I don’t want to rush it or anything, we should come out soon, is all I’m saying.” </p><p>“Yeah… Speaking of coming out.” He paused. </p><p>“Nick?”</p><p>“Listen, don’t be mad, but I kind of told George about us.” </p><p>He froze, “What?”</p><p>Nick took a deep breath, “He called me, right before this. He was blaming himself, and by that I mean <em> blaming </em>,” he put emphasis on the word, “himself. I just— He was so bummed out about it all that I thought that if I told him about us he might feel better.” </p><p>“Better about it, how?” He made sure to keep his voice steady and neutral. He didn’t want to start an argument about this, of all topics. </p><p>“Well, at least he knows that he isn’t the only one feeling that way. And that he has someone to talk to, I guess. I promise he won’t tell anyone. I felt bad about telling him without your permission, and I don’t know,” he took another breath. “Please don’t hate me.”</p><p>He felt himself physically fond over Nick’s words. The way that he thought of everyone, even if it potentially put <em> him </em>in the line of fire— He chose the right person to love. </p><p>“I’d never hate you, nimrod.” </p><p>Nick exhaled, chuckling a bit, “Really? You’re not mad?” </p><p>“Of course not! You were helping him out, why would I get angry about that?” </p><p>“Yeah, you’re right,” Nick giggled. “But now about coming out to everyone else. What were you thinking? Any dance numbers?”</p><p>Karl laughed, “Dance numbers? What is this, a musical?” </p><p>“I mean, we have to be creative. We can release merch or something.” </p><p>He let out another snicker, “Monetize on our relationship?” </p><p>“We wouldn’t be the first!” His boyfriend snorted, “Minecraft, but we’re gay.” </p><p>Karl howled in laughter after that one. “What if we came out in one of Jimmy’s videos?” </p><p>“I don’t think I’d be able to handle it,” Nick sniggered. “It’d just be too much, no one would be allowed to come out after that.” </p><p>“The bar would just be too high,” Karl sighed happily. “You know I love you, right?” </p><p>“It’s what keeps me going.” </p><p>Karl giggled, “Mr. Loverman, are we?”</p><p>“Oh shut up.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>If his thinking habits surrounding George were bad in the beginning, then he had an actual problem now. </p><p>The talk they’d had in the morning had broken something in him, chipped away a piece of the dam surrounding his heart, and now his entire body was flooded. </p><p>He busied himself with mundane chores around the house, looking for little things to get his mind off of his friend. Doing his over-do laundry proved itself useful, for that. </p><p>Clay was in the middle of cleaning his cabinets (which weren’t that dirty) when Sapnap had called. </p><p>“What’s up, Nick?” He held the phone between his ear and left shoulder, grunting as he reached for a spot near the back of the wood. </p><p>“Nothing much. Just wanted to check in with you. How are you feeling?” Sapnap’s voice crackled over the line. </p><p>“Surprisingly alright. I wasn’t that hungover today, just took an Advil for the headache.” </p><p>He hummed, “And on Twitter? I’ve seen more than enough hate, how’s it going up in your head?” </p><p>Clay sighed, straightening his back. “Not that well. I think I’ve apologized as much as I could, but you know how the internet works. No forgiveness.” He put his frustration into scrubbing a small stain on his counter. </p><p>“Very true. Have you talked to George at all?” </p><p>He could never escape it, could he? “Yeah, I did earlier today.” </p><p>“Ah.” </p><p>His back hurt from cleaning and his head hurt from keeping his emotions piled inside himself. He constantly felt like crying. </p><p>He sighed. He already felt like he’d hit rock bottom, why not potentially make it worse? “Listen, Nick. If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone else? Not even George?” </p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p>“You’ve got to promise me, Nick.” </p><p>“I promise, I promise,” he answered quickly. “What’s wrong, Clay?” </p><p>“I’m in fucking love with George!” He yelled. It echoed in his house. It seemed as empty as he felt. As empty as waking up from that dream. </p><p>Silence came from the phone before his friend started to speak again, “What?” </p><p>He groaned loudly, slamming his head onto his marble counter, “I’m in love with George.” </p><p>“Wait— Really? Like in <em> love, </em>love with George?” </p><p>“Yes, Nick. In <em> love, </em> love with George. Everything about him. His smile, his eyes, his entire face, his laugh, his personality— What’s wrong with me?” A stray tear dripped down his cheek. He didn’t notice until he saw it drop against his sleeve. He sniffled loudly. “What the <em> hell </em>is wrong with me?” </p><p>“There’s nothing wrong with you! Are you— Are you crying, Clay?” Nick stuttered into the mic, “Clay, there’s nothing wrong with loving George!” </p><p>“He’s our best friend! And I fucking love him!” He wiped the wetness from his cheeks, “What am I supposed to do? I can’t stop thinking about him! I cleaned my cabinets to forget about him, Nick! My cabinets!” </p><p>“Okay, first of all, you should be cleaning your cabinets regularly, so it’s weird that you’re not doing that—”</p><p>“—Fuck you!” Clay wailed, crying harder than before.</p><p>“The only way you’re ever going to move on is if you tell George how you feel,” Nick raised his voice over his friends weeping. “And who knows? Maybe he likes you too.” </p><p>“And what do I do if he doesn’t?” Was he meant to live the rest of his life knowing the man he loved didn’t love him back? Because there was no way in hell that he’d ever get over George. </p><p>“You’ll have to deal with it, Clay. I know it sounds harsh, but if it doesn’t go the way you want it’ll hurt. But you’re strong, you’ll get over it. I know you will.”</p><p>“I don’t want to lose him,” he whispered. “I don’t want him to feel awkward around me. I don’t want him to think of me and be filled with hate.”</p><p>“George would never hate you, Clay,” he insisted. “I promise. It’s going to be better for you to tell him now than it will later.” </p><p>He tried to reply to him, but the lights in his house started flickering, and the line cut off on the call. After a few seconds, the soft buzz of electricity in his house shut off, leaving him in the dim light of the kitchen windows. Storm clouds had started to thunder outside, giving the cooking utensils an eerie shadow. </p><p>A thud from outside shook him from his thoughts, and what he feared most happened. Two of the power lines outside his house had fallen from the heavy winds, blocking the driveway of his house and the street letting him outside the cul de sac. He tried using his phone data again, coming up with no luck. </p><p>The wind bit at his skin as he tried to move the structure from his driveway, coming up with no luck. He was blocked in until tomorrow. The rain had started to fall, chilling him to his bones. Entering the house annoyed and freezing, he dried himself off and made himself a coffee, using a candle to warm it up enough so it wasn’t cold. </p><p>He’s started sneezing and was developing a cough, his throat hurting with every swallow of semi-warm coffee he drank. Raking a finger through damp hair, he padded across his living room to the fireplace that he’d left abandoned since he bought the house. </p><p>Silently thanking his dad for making him buy firewood for the mantle, he started a small fire to light up his surroundings. It’d become pitch black inside his home, which didn’t help his overall mood. </p><p>Officially deeming himself sick, he gathered up as many blankets and pillows he could manage to find, setting up a make-shift mattress in front of the fire. It was only six P.M, but he was already tired and finished with dealing with real-life problems. </p><p>Sleep came to him easily. </p><hr/><p>
  <em> He was back in the water, this time sprawled across a bed of sand. He tried sitting upright, but the pressure was too high, forcing him to lay uncomfortably on his back. He laid there for what felt like an eternity. The rocks stabbed into his back, the sand caked his hair, his hair wiggling in the ocean.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Why are you lying there in the rocks? Doesn’t it hurt?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> George walked towards him. The seaweed seemed to part as he moved closer, like a crowd splitting for royalty passing through. Some part of his brain told him this didn’t make sense, how was he walking at the bottom of the ocean? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I can’t get up,” he spoke. His voice was muffled like he was speaking through a pillow.   </em>
</p><p>
  <em> George hummed, “Have you tried hard enough?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He struggled against the force of the gallons above him, grunting as he barely moved from his spot. He looked back up at George, “It’s not working.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The brunet crouched down, grabbing Clay’s hands and pulling him up effortlessly. Clay stared in astonishment as George giggled, “See, it wasn’t that hard, was it?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “How do you do that?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Do what?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Be so insanely perfect. You move around here,” he swiveled around in the water, gesturing around with his hands, “Like you’ve been here your whole life. I feel like I’m struggling to breathe every second, and here you are, moving like it’s air! Just standing here, it’s like someone’s put a thousand pounds on my back, and you’re just— You’re just standing there.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> George cocked his head, “I wasn’t aware that this was so hard for you…”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Everything that involves you is hard for me.” The man in front of him frowned, batting his eyelids to tell him to go on. “That was rude, I’m sorry.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “We’re in your head, don’t worry. Tell me, Clay. How do I make your life so much harder to live?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>  “Your voice,” he moved forward and placed a soft hand on George’s neck, tracing it with his fingers until they reached his mouth. “It’s so smooth, so soft yet sharp. I drown in it. Your eyes,” his thumbs traced over George’s eyelids as they fluttered closed. “They’re so pretty, so calculating. One look and I doubt myself a thousand times over. Your hair,” he ran his hand through George’s brown locks. “It looks so soft, yet I can’t tangle my fingers through it. Your skin,” he let his hands slowly fall, palms grazing over George’s cheeks, grabbing his wrists. “It looks like silk. But I can’t reach out and touch it in reality as I can in here.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The figure in front of him opened his eyes, brown spheres studying his face until speaking again, “My voice, eyes, hair, skin… So vain you are, Clay.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You think I was finished?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You stopped speaking, what was I to think?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He smirked, “Your laugh feels like a thousand clouds fell from the sky, suffocating me slowly. Your intelligence, your personality, your humor, your lips, your nose, your… Everything. It hurts me, George. It wounds me, like sharp knives. Except I let it hurt me. I wake up every day and let you kill me.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It would hurt you less if you told me you loved me,” George replied. Tears fell down again, floating up into the ocean once they passed the end of his jaw. “I could kill you every day and it would be painless because you could harm me in turn.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “How do I know you’ll love me back? That you’ll tell me I torture you in the same way you torture me?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “How do you know I won’t?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “How do you know that I’ll be okay with it if you won’t? If you refuse to torture me, if you refuse to—”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> George leaned forward and pressed his lips to Clay’s, swallowing down his sentence. His hands and body moved on autopilot, soft, gentle touches becoming deliberate and hot, leaving invisible scars on his body. Before it became too much, George moved away, locking their eyes.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Tell me you love me, Clay.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I love you, George.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Now do it again, but where you’re supposed to. Tell me you love me, and accept what comes after. I’ll always be here with you, no matter what happens.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “And if you say you love me back?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> George shrugged, “Then you'll never see me again. There won’t be a need for me.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’ll miss you.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You’ve only seen me twice, Clay.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “And yet I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Live them with me out there. Not in this ocean, this vast empty space.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He tried to touch George again, to say one last goodbye, but his hand moved through the figure. His body started to melt away into the ocean, his ghostly smile dissolving away.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Once again he was alone, but this time he wasn’t as empty. </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“I think you should stay away from us for a little bit.” </p><p>His mother’s voice slashed away at him like two swords, cutting him over and over again. He was bleeding, but his blood didn’t appear on the skin. </p><p>“What do you mean?” His voice sounded weak. He hated it. </p><p>“Well,” the woman let out another breath, crossing her arms in front of herself. The island in the middle of the kitchen seemed to divide them further apart than the ocean divided him and Clay. “You’re a <em> fag </em>.” </p><p>The word rolled off her tongue, pouncing onto his body and slicing his throat open. Another cut. He was bleeding out faster. </p><p>“I’m your son.” The remark was weak. His father had already denounced him earlier, right after he’d gotten off the phone with Nick. The man had gone to bed angrily, wearing an ugly mask of fury. </p><p>“It seems like you’re not anymore,” she whispered. “Listen, I think it’s best for all three of us if you just…” she waved her hand in front of her like she was shooing away a fly. “Went away. You’ve already found that place close to the city, just leave. You can stay in a hotel until you get it on Friday.” </p><p>His blood seeped away from him like someone was wringing him out like a sponge. Nodding dumbly, throat thick with unshed tears, he climbed up his stairs to start packing the rest of his belongings. </p><p>He’d like to say that he did the process quickly with minimal self-pity, but he’d be lying. He sobbed throughout the entire thing. Fat, hot, tears fell down his cheeks for the second time today, which didn’t help his ego at <em> all </em>. </p><p>Placing the rest of his stream supplies and various clothes, books, furniture, and other knick-knacks only took about four hours, as he’d already put the rest of his items in a storage garage. He’d been planning on moving for a while, sluggishly finding a flat five minutes from the heart of London, sending pictures of it to his friends. It was nice, that was for sure, but it also felt…Incomplete. Lonely. </p><p>George tried calling Clay whilst walking from his house, but his phone wasn’t receiving his calls. </p><p>
  <em> Weird.  </em>
</p><p>He was meant to receive it on Friday, which meant he was forced to slum it out in a cheap, mediocre hotel for the next week until he was sent the keys. </p><p>The dingy, dimly lit room smelled of cigarettes and cheap liquor, already making George sick to his stomach. The T.V. didn’t work, and the phone would beep every two seconds like a broken clock, increasing his annoyance. Lastly, the most depressing matter was that he was completely alone. He felt like a piece of seaweed drifting by itself in an ocean, fated to get tangled up in whatever trash pile that polluted the waters. </p><p>His phone rang. It was from Karl. </p><p>“Hey, Karl,” he greeted, not even trying to mask the anger in his voice. </p><p>“Good… Afternoon?” He tried. “I have no idea what time it is there.” </p><p>“It’s like, exactly midnight here,” he looked outside the window, streetlights illuminating the view. </p><p>“You’re not tired?” </p><p>He snorted, “No. My sleep schedule is synced up with Clay’s.” </p><p>“Seems… Unhealthy.” </p><p>“It is,” George smirked into the empty room. “Anyway, what’s up? Did you just want to talk?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Karl’s voice sounded sheepish from the other end. “How are you doing, first of all?”</p><p>“My parents just kicked me out of their house.” It was miserable, yes, but he also had no energy to sound like anything other than bored. </p><p>“WHAT?” Karl’s sudden shriek hurt his ears. </p><p>“I’m not kidding. I went down at like ten P.M, and they’d already decided to kick me out.” </p><p>“What the hell? I’m so sorry, George,” Karl’s voice was soft, stuffed with pity. </p><p>“It’s alright. I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. They’re a bit on the religious side, if you know what I mean.” </p><p>Karl hummed in understanding, “Still doesn’t make it okay. Where are you staying right now, then?” </p><p>“Well, I’ve already bought a flat near the city, but I’m officially receiving it on Friday. I’m staying in some dumb hotel for the next week,” he sighed. “That means I won’t be able to stream for a little while. Not like I was going to, though.” </p><p>“Twitter’s calmed down,” Karl tried. “The hashtags have stopped trending, at least.” </p><p>“Have they? I haven’t been on there since this morning.” He opened the app, scrolling through his feed. </p><p>“I think your little selfie guilted them a bit. They stopped using your name in their Tweets.” </p><p>“Asterisks?” He’d noticed the fans had started to use the little stars in place of letters when they wanted to speak about something without trending it. </p><p>“Yeah,” Karl confirmed. “I mean, it’s better than seeing your name plastered all over the place, I guess?” </p><p>“I guess.” He’d stubbornly made the decision to only like Tweets that weren’t about the ‘incident.’ “Have you heard from Clay, recently? I tried calling him but he didn’t pick up.” </p><p>“Nick texted me about it, they were talking and his phone hung up randomly. There’s a big storm in Florida right now, and Orlando’s right in the middle of it,” Karl’s keyboard clicked as he spoke. “It looks pretty bad. His house probably lost electricity, and it looks like multiple power lines fell too.” </p><p>Worry started to knot in his chest. Clay had often complained about the Floridian weather, as it had ruined his streams more than once. But they’d never been this extreme, knocking over entire power lines. He pursed his lips, “I see… And there’s no way to reach him?” </p><p>“Probably not. No one we know lives close enough to him. I’m sure he’ll be alright though. It’s not like it’s out of the blue, it happens a lot.” Karl clicked something on his computer. A weather man’s voice gurgled from the speakers, the sound too faint for George to hear. </p><p>“It’s never been this bad, though. He’d been at least able to use his phone,” he let out another sigh. A little voice in his head told him something was wrong, to find out some way to contact Clay, but he wrote it off as anxiety. “Whatever. Are you going to stream?” </p><p>“With Alex in fifteen minutes. We’re just going to mess around on the SMP for a few hours, nothing too big. Do you feel like joining or…” the younger man trailed off, waiting for George’s answer. </p><p>“I can’t, all of my stuff is in storage.” He rolled his eyes, “I’m going to head to bed early. There’s literally nothing left for me to do.” </p><p>“Alright. Good night then, Gog Meister,” Karl giggled. “I’m here if you want to talk!” </p><p>“Good night, Karl.” </p><p>He spent another thirty minutes examining the weather patterns in Florida. News reporters and other channels were starting to worry him, as most of them spoke about how they couldn’t gather any information from the area. The winds and rain were too strong to reach anyone there, and it was starting to look like another hurricane was forming. One woman spoke about how flights were starting to get booked quickly, people starting to evacuate. </p><p>Something was seriously wrong. Clay would’ve gotten himself <em> and </em>his family away from the problem by now, and he would’ve at least called George and Sapnap to let them know what had happened.</p><p>He tried calling his friend again, coming back empty-handed. They would’ve gotten somewhere that had power, by now. </p><p>
  <em> What if he’s trapped?  </em>
</p><p>Multiple power lines had gone down, and electricity was probably unheard of at this point. If Clay needed a way out, he had no way of asking for it. And something told him that was the case. </p><p>“What the hell is wrong with me,” he muttered to himself. </p><p>George grabbed his laptop, scoffing at his own insanity. There was a roundtrip flight to Florida that left in two hours and returned the following day, seemingly for the evacuation process. Grabbing his small suitcase filled with his bare necessities, he checked out of his hotel and bought an Uber to the airport. </p><p>“Here I come, Florida.” He whispered to himself.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry for the delay for this chapter, i just ended up making it way longer than i had planned to. thank you for all the kudos and comments, they really do make my day! </p><p>and i also apologize for dragging out their relationship, lolll... idk if i want to classify it as a slow-burn though, because it's not going to be like a million chapters long. let me know if you have any suggestions! </p><p>comments and kudos are appreciated! thank you for reading :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter Seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He’d woken up feverishly after a few hours around midnight, teeth chattering loudly as his fire slowly went out. His muscles were aching and his head was pounding, the lighting from outside making it even worse. He felt like the hangover he was supposed to get from last night had come back ten times harder now, like a sick version of instant karma. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He crawled unflatteringly to his fireplace, sluggishly throwing the rest of his firewood inside the dying flames. He sat there in front of the dancing licks of fire, panting as he tried to gather his breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t even form full thoughts, each one being cut off by another one moving rapidly in his brain. The fire was making him dizzier, melting away the rest of the awareness he had, but he didn’t have enough energy to move away. Mustering as much as the energy he could, he dragged himself back to his makeshift bed on the floor, shivering under the piles of blankets he’d collected. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt so tired, but somehow his body didn’t allow him to fall asleep. The thunder clapped outside, branches smacking his windows, scaring him awake every so often. Something crashed outside, another powerline or tree, reminding him that his situation must’ve gotten worse when he’d slept before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His neighbors must’ve left a few hours prior, leaving Clay stranded alone to fend for himself. A little voice in his head told him that he should’ve written his will when he’d had the chance. His cat scratched against something in the living room. Distraught meows followed the silence a few moments later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Patches?” His voice was disgustingly thick, throat clogged with mucus and scratchy from the irritation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She meowed again, louder as she dragged her claws against the door to his house. He strained his ears, listening for whatever was putting his cat on edge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then he heard it. A knock. He could barely make out what it was over the ruckus of the storm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Someone’s here to save me! </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scrambling out of his nest, he stumbled over towards the entrance, pushing Patches aside. The door slammed open, snatched out of his grip by the violent winds. Standing on his porch was the person he least expected to retrieve him from the Florida weather. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“George?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d gotten to the airport around two in the morning, finally reaching Florida around America’s midnight. George had sat paralyzed in his seat the entire time, worries constantly running through his mind. The flight had been almost fourteen hours, and he still hadn’t gotten any message from Clay telling him he was alright. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Immediately after landing, he was bombarded with the strongest winds he’d ever experienced in his life, as well as rain that chilled him down to the bone. After asking other passengers in the airport, he learned that not only had the weather not gotten better, but it’d actually gotten even worse. Somehow, he’d gotten an Uber driver to drive him through the storm, albeit a bit slowly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Using the address Clay had given him a few months earlier when George sent him merch, he managed to reach a street blocked off by two fallen power lines and countless upturned trees. It looked like a scene out of some movie, no signs of life anywhere, lights all off in houses, boarded up windows, and mailboxes shaking dangerously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re really going to go out in there?” His driver’s eyebrows were raised as he talked to him in an insanely gruff voice. “These are one of the worst storms I’ve seen in about ten years.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ll only be a minute,” he tried not to let his anxiety show. “I just need to get my friend out of here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you say so,” he stopped the car near a stop sign, unlocking the windows. “Be quick, will ya? I need to get home, soon.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George winced internally. This man probably had his own family, his own loved ones he needed to look after. And yet here he was, risking his life just so George could save Clay. “Of course.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell are these Floridians living in? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He almost fell over once he left the safety of the car, bracing himself on the door. Slowly, hugging his jacket close to his body, he made his way to the home. Clay’s house was on the curve of the cul de sac, meaning George had to climb over all the debris littering the sidewalk as he trudged through the rain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knocked on the white door which was fortunately under a porch, giving him some haven from the rain. No answer came from the other side except for a slight scratch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Patches?” George called from the outside. A weak mewl responded back.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tried again, hitting his entire fist against the door, making sure that anyone on the inside would be able to hear. Two painful minutes later the scratching stopped and the entrance opened, revealing a tragically weak-looking Clay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“George?” His voice was raspy and it looked like it pained him to talk. But before he could even reply, the blond collapsed into George’s arms, Patches meowing in alarm. Heart beating fast and mind working faster, he fumbled with Clay’s unconscious body as he tried to balance him on his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you have to be so fucking tall?” He yelled to no one in particular, grunting as he closed the door behind them. They could come back to lock it later. Patches, bless her soul, was intelligent enough to realize that she needed to follow her owner and George from the house. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The three of them were drenched by the time they reached the car again, the driver crying alarm when they appeared in his line of sight, “What’s wrong with him?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I—I’m not sure,” Clay’s head was laying on George’s lap. Patches sat on the floor near their legs, tail flicking around in uncertainty as they left the neighborhood. “He answered the door and then collapsed!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s a hospital near here, about five minutes. If we reach there in time you might be able to get him a bed before something else happens,” he left the statement hanging in the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do that, please.” His words were short and clipped, speaking as he would to someone he hated. He knew the driver didn’t deserve that, but there were matters bigger than politeness on his plate.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They reached the building quickly and efficiently, making sure to give their driver a huge tip before leaving. Patches now sat cradled in George’s arms as he sat in the waiting room of the hospital. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The nurses had taken Clay into emergency care, trying their best to calm down George as he explained the situation in record-breaking speed. A forty minutes later the doctor had returned, informing him that his friend had just gotten extremely sick, which is why he had fainted. His body temperature was very high, which meant that they were keeping him at the hospital until it lowered a bit.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sir, would you like a towel for you and your cat?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked up from where he was staring at the floor. An older nurse stood in front of him, holding two white towels. She looked at him with wariness, as if calculating where he would lie on an insanity-scale. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh— Yes, thank you,” he wrapped Patches in the first towel, using the second on his hair which had been dripping down his face for the past twenty minutes. “Sorry if I’m taking up space, I can move somewhere else if you’d like.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, of course not. Also, your accent— Where are you from?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m from London,” he rubbed his hand over Patches body. “I arrived here like three or four hours ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why’d you come here during this weather?” She blushed in embarrassment, “If you don’t mind me asking. I heard they were giving people warnings on what they were getting themselves into.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just— Do you ever get those gut-feelings? The ones where there’s no explanation for why you feel them? I— I, somehow, </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>that there was something wrong with my friend, that he needed help. I bought a plane ticket and just came here. And I was— I was right,” he blew out a sigh. He chuckled lightly, “I’m sorry, I probably sound crazy right now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The nurse, Sylvie, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You’re not crazy. The universe has a plan Mr…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“George, you can call me George.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“George. The universe has a plan, a script, a story written out for you, me, for everyone. The universe brought you here. You and your friend, the two of you are meant for each other.” She sat down in the seat beside him, raising his head up with her hand as a mother would do her child, “This person seems more than just a friend to you, am I correct?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded, defeated. “I’ve felt like this for god knows how long. I don’t know how to tell him. If he doesn’t feel the same way, I don’t want to lose him. Loving him one-sided is one thing, not ever speaking to him again, that’s...” he didn’t finish. He didn’t want to think about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The universe has a plan, George. I think you should tell him how you feel. Follow what she’s written.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let it sink in. It’d be stupid not to say something now, after everything that’s happened. There was also no ‘straight’ excuse for why George had flown across the ocean on a whim just because he ‘felt’ that Clay was in trouble. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Sylvie. You’ve really— You’ve helped a lot.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s my job,” she smiled softly, getting up from her seat and walking towards the front desk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right as she left, another nurse briskly entered the waiting room, motioning for George to follow her. “My name is Christi, I’m one of Clay’s nurses. He’s woken up, and his temperature’s gone down a bit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She spoke in little bursts, which George had a bit of trouble understanding, “When do you think he’ll be discharged?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s recovering quickly, so we think either in a few hours or early tomorrow morning.” They took a sharp turn to another wing of the hospital. “He’s lucky, though.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Christi didn’t answer his question, stopping in front of a room and checking her watch, “Listen, this is his room. The doctor will be with you in half an hour. Ring the bell if there’s an emergency.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She left in a flurry of billowing hospital scrubs. George watched as she walked away, a sense of confidence in her stride that he wished he had. Keeping Patches held close to him, he pushed open the heavy door to the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bright lights in his room hurt his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Since when did the power come back? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat up quickly in his bed, cot, realizing that he wasn’t where he last remembered being. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Someone’s finally awake,” a woman walked into the room, holding a clipboard and pen. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the back of her head, brown skin shining in the blurriness of his eyes. “Took your time getting your beauty sleep, huh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How much do you remember?” She walked over and prodded some of the needles sticking in his arms, writing words he didn’t know the meaning of on her paper. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I got really sick during the storm, and I fell asleep and woke up again. There was this knock on the door and I opened it and,” he tensed up again, “Oh my god, George! George was at the door and then I— then I… ” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then you fainted.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded dumbly, watching the doctor again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your friend,” she peered at him through the tops of her glasses. “George. He really saved you from suffering. If you hadn’t gotten here as soon as you did, we’d be looking at a whole other story.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean? And where even is he?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“George is in the waiting room, we’ll call him down in a minute. As for what I mean…” she sat down on the rolly-chair. “Your body temperature was abnormally high, meaning if you’d waited to get here, you would’ve been in more of a daze, which would’ve made it so much harder to treat you. It would have been difficult for you to even get here in the first place, if I’m being honest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She spent another ten minutes checking his vitals, marking down what he’d remembered, and leaving with a few words to the nurse. Christi, one of said nurses, who he had come to realize was obnoxiously articulate with her words, left to retrieve George. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How had George known to get him? </span>
  <em>
    <span>When </span>
  </em>
  <span>had he even arrived in the United States? It was practically impossible for his friend to have known that he was in trouble, much less in an emergency regarding his health. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clay?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes snapped up. George stood at the doorway to the room, holding a sleeping Patches. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s here in person. Holding my cat. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“George!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clay!” The brunet surged forward, pulling Clay into a tight hug. Patches squirmed from his hands and sat at the end of his cot, playing with the sheets. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, my— </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, George! What the fuck?” Clay quieted when the staff in the hallways sent him dirty looks. “How the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>did you even—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a long fucking story,” George rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m just glad you’re okay. And safe, might I add.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clay grabbed the brunet’s hands, making sure he looked directly at George. “Thank you, genuinely. Who knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t got to me when you did.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t even want to think about it,” George let out a breathy laugh, the ones Clay loved oh-so-much. He tried not to think about the butterflies in his stomach, the erratic beating of his heart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, tell me what happened.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you guys SO much for the support on this story. i'm literally so glad you guys are actually enjoying and just coming back to read it! sorry for the stretches of time between the chapters, i can't promise that it'll be fixed anytime soon. love you guys &lt;3 comments and kudos are appreciated :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter Eight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They sat in a dingy hotel room, giving George deja vu of the scenario he was in almost two days ago. The blond was snuggled under the white covers of the bed, looking so adorable it made him want to throw up his dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d held off on explaining what had happened, making up faulty excuses for every time Clay asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t make any more excuses. He sat right next to him, a fair amount of distance between them to seem ‘normal.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clay, I need to tell you something,” his voice was soft but steady. At this point, the best thing he could do was stop lying about his feelings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” The blond’s voice was still the tiniest bit raspy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blew out a sigh. “Do you believe in the universe?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean—” he furrowed his brows, “Yeah? We live in it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well obviously,” he rolled his eyes. “But I mean on a deeper level.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like the whole ‘the universe has a plan,’ type of thing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, “Exactly.” George gathered his bearings, taking a deep breath before talking. “For, I have no idea how long, I’ve been in love with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay’s eyes widened, “George?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been in love with you, and I’ve been hiding it for </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>long,” his voice was shaky, and his hands were jittering so much that he had to clasp them together tightly. “And I’m done fucking hiding it. So I’m telling you now. I love you, Clay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both fell silent, the whir of the shitty air conditioner singing an off-key tune to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George ran a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry if—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was cut off by Clay’s lips on his. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>They were kissing. Actually, kissing, in </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George’s lips were just as he’d imagined, somehow even better. They were soft, and they tasted so good against his own mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifted closer to him, placing his hands on George’s waist. His hands were cupping Clay’s face, and his hands felt so soft and so good and so… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They broke apart once their lungs were screaming for air and their faces were red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was—” Clay panted out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It felt—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both doubled over into a fit of laughter, in hysterics over the entire situation. Once they quieted, Clay slid his hands up from where they previously sat on George’s wrists. Gentle fingers tracing patterns on his arms, watching the brunet’s breath hitch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“George, I love you too,” he tentatively ran his fingers over George’s cheek, tracing small circles onto his skin as the brunet stared at him with the most beautiful brown eyes he’d seen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say it again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What you just said,” his voice came out in a breathy whisper, setting Clay’s body on autopilot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, George.” For a split second, he was transported back under the sea, making out with his best friend in the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is a hundred times better than that. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>George kissed him this time, setting the blond ablaze as he ran his tongue over Clay’s lips. A small moan escaped him, which George took as permission to explore deeper into his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he knew what was happening, he was on top of George, both of them half-naked in the flickering light of the hotel room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we going to do this,” he breathed out, studying as the man’s pupils dilated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only if you want to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bent down and kissed him as an answer. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>George was enveloped in Clay’s arms, silently counting the taller man’s heartbeats. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>How did he get here? How did he end up in some shitty hotel room, halfway across the world from home, jetlagged out of his mind, lying in the same bed as his best friend after fucking him? The timeline he was living in was so out of line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt himself get pulled closer to the furnace that was Clay’s body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last night’s sleep was the best he’d ever had, even if he could only bask in it for a few fleeting hours. Clay’s soft exhales were like a quiet melody, lulling him to sleep. He was sad that it had ended, glaring at the rays of sun peeking through the paper blinds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, he turned himself over so he could see his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blond looked ethereal in his slumber. Soft pink lips slightly parted, eyelashes fluttering as he slept, hair perfectly messy like he’d just come back from a runway. His brows were a bit furrowed, from which George assumed was the light coming from the windows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although it disturbed their peacefulness, he was glad the sun started to shine through again. The clouds and heavy winds had finally parted and disappeared, leaving behind destruction but also a sense of serenity. You win some and lose some? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay finally stirred after a few minutes, groaning as he slowly opened his eyes. George, who’d sat up in bed by now, looked from his phone back down to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” He ran his hand through Clay’s blond hair, reveling in the way his expression calmed as he did it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snuggled closer to the brunet, wrapping his hands around George’s legs as he put his head on his lap, “What time is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Half-past ten. I think we’ve missed breakfast.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you eat?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George caressed Clay’s shoulder with his thumb, “No. I’m honestly not that hungry. Didn’t want to disturb you, either.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Should still eat, though,” he said, frowning. “C’mon, let’s go see if Starbucks is open or not.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay had won at life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d woken up next to George after a night of events that he was more than excited to repeat, as well as finding out that his feelings of love were mutual between the two of them. The first thing he’d seen after opening his eyes was George’s beautiful features, soft eyes looking down at him with an expression that made him giddy inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By god’s grace, a tiny Starbucks near the hotel was open after the storm. They opted out of an Uber, deciding to walk the mile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t ignore the way their knuckles brushed against each other as they walked. Was he supposed to hold his hand? They hadn’t talked about anything that happened, much less how they were going to go about a relationship. Every once in a while, he’d look over at the brunet, smiling bashfully as George spoke about various things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are we?” Clay was holding a coffee in his hand, sitting across from George at one of the outdoor tables. They were next to a small creek, watching the fish swim rounds in the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George set down his own drink, toying with his hands. “What do you want us to be?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Answer my question first.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean technically we’re two best friends who had sex a mere eight or ten hours ago.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Clay wheezed. He let out a laugh so loud that they started getting dirty looks from the other tables. George muffled his giggles with his elbow, face turning red as he snickered. He took another breath once he’d calmed down, wiping away fallen tears. “I guess you’re right, there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m always right,” George smirked before sobering his expression. “Now it’s your turn. What do you want us to be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want us to be just friends anymore,” he reached forward, tentatively curling his hands around George’s, which were holding his coffee cup. “I want us to be more than that.” He wanted to be able to turn around in the middle of the night and be met with George’s body. To be able to hold his hand like they were doing now. He wanted to dance in his huge kitchen in the middle of the night, walk into each other’s streams, get dinner on weekends. Even mundane chores seemed better to do with George than they did alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” The man’s smile was blinding. It crinkled the edges of his eyes and made him look even more angelic, a small red shadow covering his cheeks as he blushed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, George—” he let out a shaky chuckle. “I fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>you. This is literally the first time we’ve seen each other in person but I’m in fucking love with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George studied his face, “What if I move to the U.S?” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i'm very sorry for the CRIMINALLY short chapter. i'm trying my hardest to not let a million days go by between updates, but it's difficult trying to write a lot on top of school work. i've started the next chapter already though, so hopefully, it'll be longer than this one. thank you so much for the support, i love all of you! </p><p>comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! it helps a lot seeing people interact with my work and enjoy it &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter Nine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>George watched as Clay froze, “Are you serious?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Moving to the U.S.A. seemed crazy, unreasonable, stupid, but also a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>good idea. He’d be so much closer to Clay, Sapnap, Karl, so many people that he loved and cherished. Sure, he would be leaving his U.K friends, and that would sting him once in a while in the form of old memories, but new beginnings, right? He could always fly over to visit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One hundred percent. My parents kicked me out when I was outed,” he winced at the reminder. “And I haven’t yet received the apartment I bought. I could get all my things shipped over, and go back to handle the Visa and immigration, say goodbye to everyone, and then be on my merry way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re actually considering it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George marveled at the way Clay’s green eyes lit up. He wanted that to happen again. He wanted to be the reason they brightened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I— I am. It’ll be a bit strange because it’s so out of the blue, but I don’t want to be apart for any longer,” he took a moment to stop rambling and gather his thoughts. “I hated not being able to be with you, and going back home like this? After everything? Long-distance was hard before, it’ll be way too difficult now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you— would you move in with me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt his face heat up at the thought of living domestically with Clay, “I don’t have to… I could always buy an apartment here if you need me to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! No, no,” Clay blushed and cleared his throat. “I mean...No. You can stay with me— only if you want to, that is. My house is definitely big enough for both of us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded minutely, “Alright, I’ll stay with you.” He hesitated for a moment, slowly grabbing the blond’s outstretched hand and raising it to his lips. He pressed a soft, shy kiss to the other man’s knuckles, grinning as Clay tightened the grip between them. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The only people who didn’t react positively to his news of moving were his parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All his friends had supported him, making him promise to visit every year, and already insisting on coming over once he was settled in. Nick and Karl were obviously thrilled, congratulating them for getting together, and deciding to move in together. Even Alex, who lived in Mexico, was jumping around his room exclaiming that he would be visiting the minute they were ready. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His parents, however, were the complete opposite. He’d called his mom once they got to the hotel, taking the time to dial her number while Clay was in the shower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” Her voice crackled over the line, reminding him that he and his family were now separated over a thousand miles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom, it’s me, George.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “I uh— I just wanted to tell you that I’m in America right now. And I’ll be living here until further notice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m moving to America,” he repeated slowly. “You’re welcome to visit if you please. I’m still open to the idea.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flinched at her cold voice, steeling himself for whatever was going to come next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First deciding out of nowhere to turn </span>
  <em>
    <span>gay, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and now moving to America? Why? Why are you doing this? We were supposed to be a family, George. You’re turning your back on us after everything!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve always been gay, mom,” his words were breaking, stray tears spilling out of his eyes. He was so good at fighting back against homophobes on the internet, but the moment he faced one in real life it all went to shit. “I didn’t just wake up one morning and turn on a not-straight switch.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s because you haven’t been spending as much time with us, </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal </span>
  </em>
  <span>people. Some idiot on the internet isn’t going to be there for you the same way we are, George,” her tone miraculously changed, taking on to a pleading warble. “Come back! We miss the old you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t talk about Clay like that. He’s not an idiot, he’s my—” he stopped himself before letting on too much. “I’m not coming back. I’m staying with him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s your what? Don’t tell me you’ve run away with him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stayed silent, wiping away his signs of weakness away from his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s probably the one who did this to you, isn’t he? Go on, stay with Clay. Just watch: he’ll break your heart and you’ll come home crying to us. This isn’t a real relationship you have with him, it’s just a show. It’ll end, they always do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cut the line off with a sharp sound, burying his face into his elbows as he hunched over the flimsy desk. Was this really his parent’s fault? They were wrong about the homophobia, but what about the rest? </span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the one who decided to move to a whole new continent the minute it was offered! How fast were he and Clay going? Was this really a good idea, had he actually done the right thing? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when the blond man decided that he didn’t want George? What would he do then? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe there would’ve been a way to salvage the pieces of the broken bond between him and his family. But he’d destroyed it, beyond all chances of repair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A painful, broken sob erupted from him as the bathroom door opened. The scent of hotel-shampoo wafted into the room, filling his nostrils. He stifled the cry that threatened to leave his mouth, straightening his back and facing away from Clay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cold hands cupped his face, slowly tilting his head so teary brown eyes met green ones. He avoided eye-contact looking everywhere but the beauty standing in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blond bent down and pressed a soft kiss to George’s temple, allowing his hand to caress his hair. They stayed like that for a moment, George weeping into Clay as the man comforted him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, George?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a pathetic, shaky breath. “It’s my parents— I know I shouldn’t care about what they say, they’re so obviously </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong </span>
  </em>
  <span>about… About everything. It’s just— I still care, y’know? It hurts that they don’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay sat down on the bed, pulling George closer to him. The brunet let his head fall onto the taller man’s shoulder, sighing as they listened to the silence swimming in the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are they angry about you coming to the states?” Clay’s voice was small, nervousness casting a shadow on his words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, “Yeah. They just said some horrible, horrible things and it fucking tore me apart like it always does. I wish I could talk back to them, just once. It’s only when I talk to </span>
  <em>
    <span>them </span>
  </em>
  <span>when I can never defend myself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned, grasping Clay’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “There’s nothing for you to apologize about.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to feel like you have to live with me,” the taller man looked at George guiltily. “I’d love it if you did but I feel like I’m forcing you away from everyone back home. And now your parents…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I decided to move to the states on my own accord, Clay. It was bound to happen at some point. I guess it was just sooner than we expected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? I just feel like I play some part in all this—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>your fault,” George pressed a chaste kiss to Clay’s lips. “They kicked me out of the house and they’re complaining that I left. Oh lord— You idiot!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay still looked at him in worry, “Are you sure?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I’m sure, you asshole! Jesus Christ, you think I’d ever blame you for this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George wrapped his arms around Clay, giggling as he felt the younger man bury his face in his shoulder. Clay muttered something about being in love, to which George blushed furiously. Even if he was half-way across the world with absolutely no family, he knew that he wasn’t alone. He had Clay. He had so many people so much closer to him, all waiting to come to his side at any given moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George had a feeling that he would be alright. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“You already saw the outside of the house when you came to rescue me,” the two of them held hands as they walked to Clay’s home, Patches sitting in George’s free arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trees had long since been cleared, power lines repaired and in use again. Various branches and leaves still littered the ground, but the neighborhood was in much better shape. His driveway was accessible again. Clay made a mental note to check up on his neighbors to see how they were doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could barely see anything other than the rain,” George pursed his lips. “But I’m glad that it’s not as damaged as the other places. I had no idea storms got this bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised an eyebrow, “Does England not get any coverage about the hurricanes?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously we do. But hurricanes seem so much tamer on T.V. than they actually are. I always assumed they were just rainstorms with fast winds.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hummed, “Get used to them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George rolled his eyes, “Sure thing, asshole.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After fumbling with the keys, he unlocked the door, walking into the house. Patches leaped from where she was cradled in George’s hands, returning to her favorite spot on the kitchen windowsill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome home,” he did a mock bow as George walked in, dodging the playful shove that came in return. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay watched giddily as George walked around, pointing out little decorations and pictures that hung from the walls. Buying a beautiful house like the one he had was something he was so incredibly proud of, and now that he got to share it with someone? He was on a cloud higher than nine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you have a picture of me pinned to your wall?” George smirked as he looked at the small corkboard that leaned against his fridge. He’d put various pictures of him and his family onto it, small mementos from vacations they’d taken. They took up most of the space on the small surface, leaving a small corner untouched. He had managed to ignore it for the most part, but he finally snapped and filled up the empty space. Hanging from the tiny spot was a small photo of George that came from a stream that happened ages ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabbed the man’s hand, practically dragging  him to another part of the house, “Let’s show you the bedroom!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The master bedroom of his house was shamelessly high class. He was never one for flaunting the sudden wealth he’d earned from YouTube to the public, remaining humble with his personal belongings. However, he never shied away from using his success in his house. It’s not like anyone would see it, right? </span>
</p><p><span>A window at the top of his raised ceilings let in a plethora of sunlight, warming the room like a pleasant blanket. It was a nice change from the rest of the house, which often stayed cold from the wooden floors and huge, open layout. Clay’s bed sat across from a flatscreen T.V., placed parallel from a grand shelf filled to the brim with an embarrassingly large amount of books. He had two cluttered nightstands on either side of his bed, with baby blue lamps that he never quite used. Two couches sat near a second window on the wall, making it a perfect place for him to laze around and read books by himself. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>A perfect place to laze around and read books with</span><em><span> George</span></em><span>.</span></p><p>
  <span>The shorter man sat down on one of the chairs, patting the second one to beckon Clay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you told me you liked to read,” George’s gaze fluttered towards the bookshelf, “I never expected </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged, “I’ve been collecting my whole life, it just started to pile up. I have this weird obsession with collecting books. It physically pains me to get rid of them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t say I’m disappointed,” he bent down and picked a book off the floor, frowning as he read the cover. “I thought you didn’t like Harry Potter?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay blushed, thinking back to a call they’d had over six months ago. All three of them were sleep-deprived and delusional after a rather tiring round of recording. Somehow the topic of reading had come up, to which Sapnap yawned obnoxiously before leaving the call. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never took you as a reader,” George’s character on the screen stood still as if they were talking to each other in real life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A lot of people don’t. I mean, reading and writing were my favorite subjects in school, it’d be strange if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>like books,” he yawned. “Do you read, too?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably the one thing that I do more than sleeping,” yellow words appeared on the screen: </span>
  <em>
    <span>GeorgeNotFound has left the game</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I always have. I used to be obsessed with Harry Potter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh,” Clay rolled his eyes. “How come everyone likes Harry Potter? It’s so boring!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An offended cry came from the speaker, “What do you mean boring? How do you call yourself a reader and not like Harry Potter?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A million pages of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>same </span>
  </em>
  <span>story over and over again. It’s the most cliche trope, too!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I bet you liked Percy Jackson or some shit—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare </span>
  </em>
  <span>insult Percy Jackson!” Clay subconsciously cracked his knuckles, a habit he’d picked up whenever he got ready to debate. “It’s far out of the league of trash like Harry Potter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Percy Jackson wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for Harry Potter!” He heard George’s chair squeak from the line, imagining the brunet sitting up in his chair, gearing up for the long argument that was to come. “And the stories are basically the same. Young boy has to save the world over and over again, with a big prophecy in charge of their actions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There were plenty of differences in plot and you know that it’s true!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? Name </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>major difference…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked back at present-day George, sitting in front of him live and in-stereo. Their petty debate over the two series had ended in an invite to Alex’s stream; focusing both of their attention spans into coming up with a good enough lie to explain why they were active in Discord but not available to go live. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got bored,” he lied. In reality, he’d actually wanted to have something to talk with George about, have another spark to a debate about meaningless topics. Anything to lengthen the time he took to talk to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t need to worry about that anymore. </span>
</p><p><span>The pair stayed like that until the sun started to dip under the horizon, beautiful swirls of pink and blue flooding across the sky. The small lake behind his house had turned into a shimmering soup of melted cotton candy. The Floridian humidity suffocated them as they stepped out onto his balcony to watch the stars poke out into the night. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Have you read </span><em><span>Pride and Prejudice</span></em><span>?” George leaned into Clay, eyes shining as they looked at the scene. </span></p><p>
  <span>“For school. I never read it enough to like it, though.” He grimaced to himself. Despite his love for literature, the moment it was forced upon him by school, his love for reading seemed to disappear. He couldn’t even count the sheer amount of beautiful stories that he ended up hating because of school.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t like it when I was in school either,” the brunet looked up at Clay before facing the front again. “But after a bit, I gave it another try. There was this one quote in it…” George blushed, toying with his hands as he shifted his weight from side to side. “It reminded me so much of you and me that for a while, I went back and read it over and over again, praying that one day I’d be able to say it to you—” beautiful, golden-brown eyes met ones dipped in green. “Able to say it to you with meaning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me.” Clay clasped George’s hands in his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” George faced his entire body towards Clay, back pressed against the railing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay watched as George’s eyes flickered around, finally settling on his face. Slowly, he cupped the brunet’s cheek in his palm. He traced his thumb under his eye, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to George’s lips. He smiled into the connection, giggling softly as a small gasp left the brunet’s mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They broke apart, eyes glistening as Clay tilted his head down and whispered into George’s ear, “Do you mean it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With my every being.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>wooooah i am SOOOO sorry for the two weeks without a chapter 😭 i was out of town and had no way of uploading OR writing, which means that this chapter was speedrun! sorry if it's not as good as the others, hoping to get back on track these next few days! expect a chapter from karl or sapnap's povs...</p><p>UPDATE! i've made a twitter :) @guccieyelash21 is for fanfics ONLY and will be for updates about the fic and the place where I'll interact with y'all the most!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter Ten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Did you hear about George and Clay?” Nick toyed with the glass of water in his hands, watching the leaves outside his window dance in the wind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just got off a call with George. Crazy, huh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s barely been a week and they’re already moving in together while—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“—While we’ve been together for so long and haven’t even met,” Karl finished his sentence, a sad sigh escaping his mouth and wiggling into Nick’s ears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’d been dating Karl for over a month now and they hadn’t even told people about their relationship. His two best friends, who he loved dearly, had already moved in together and it was their first time meeting each other!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nick wasn’t just jealous, he was worried. The two had known each other for over seven years, Nick and Clay for even longer, but it was all online. Was this healthy? Clay had always been one to love without responsibility. He jumped into things headfirst without thinking, a stark contrast to his strategies while gaming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George, on the other hand, was reserved. He bottled up his feelings, his complaints. He let little things slide through his walls, but bigger problems always got stuck behind the barricade. As much as the older boasted about being the smartest of the three of them, his communication skills when it came to serious topics always failed him. Would the two of them work? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just scared that somethings going to go wrong and I’ll lose both of my friends,” Nick confessed to his speaker. “They’re moving unreasonably fast, they haven’t even had time to get to know each other romantically.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But haven’t y'all known each other for like ten years? Wouldn’t they know enough about one another?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All those years on two whole sides of the world! There’s no way in hell they know enough to live together,” he rubbed his palm over his face, trying to shake off the weird feeling he was getting. “George can’t talk about feelings, and Clay is nothing but emotions.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karl stayed silent through the call, the soft buzz of the connection being the only thing emitting from his phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?” Nick tried. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Check your messages, babe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opened his messages, tapping on Karl’s notification. The most recent message was an attachment, loading into a picture of what looked suspiciously like a plane ticket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re lying,” he zoomed in, reading the dates on the screenshot. </span>
  <em>
    <span>August 8th. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“No way this is real!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See you in three days, love.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed incredulously, rereading the plane ticket over-and-over until the words were burned into his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>August 8th. August 8th. August 8th. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Karl you don’t understand how fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>excited </span>
  </em>
  <span>I am.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re going to do so much stuff oh my god,” Karl giggled through the phone. “We can come out when I’m there too! During a stream or something, maybe. I’ll bring my setup!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just use mine, babe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karl feigned swooning as Nick rolled his eyes, “Modern love! I can’t believe I got lucky enough to have a boyfriend who lets me use his gaming setup.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“On second thought, don’t bother flying to Texas…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>About a week after his impulsive move to Florida, George’s streaming setup finally shipped from London. Boxes full of his P.C. and his monitors that were, by the grace of God, not damaged, arrived at their doorstep, reminding him that his hiatus off of the internet had come to an end. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only place where George had even been remotely active was his YouTube channel, where he didn’t even read the comments. He refrained from checking Twitter, abstained from TikTok, turned a blind eye on Instagram, and didn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>touch </span>
  </em>
  <span>the Twitch app. He even went as far as to only joining the DreamSMP when only he, Clay, and Sapnap were on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it was heaven. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A full twenty-four hours to himself and his boyfriend, lacking any stress, rumors, theories, and insults from the media. What could be better? There was a weight completely lifted off his shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But all good things come to an end. So the day he finally set up his computer, he went and finally opened his social media. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Streaming in ten minutes, come join! </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The replies under the post were borderline unreadable, full of keyboard smashes and various pictures of SMP members with hearts. He chuckled lightly to himself, watching the likes on the Tweet climb higher and higher until Tommy and Tubbo commented, looking for attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re streaming, tonight?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned in his chair to see Clay, standing shirtless in the doorway. His hair was still messy from a few moments ago when they were ‘relieving stress,’ a playful grin painted onto his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I owe them an explanation,” George spread his arms, curling them around Clay’s waist as he waited for his alarm to ring. “You might want to avoid talking for the next few hours.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The blond smirked, lifting up George’s chin so they made eye contact. The brunet was so much shorter than his counterpart, his head barely making it three inches higher than Clay’s navel while sitting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t I go do a face reveal right now so we can make out in front of your viewers?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snorted, “Sounds tempting, but I think that’ll have to wait for just a bit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To be honest, he didn’t even know what he was going to do. Obviously, he would have to explain the ‘incident,’ and also somehow tell the viewers he’d changed locations without letting too much slip. But what about after? Was he supposed to sit there and play Minecraft after admitting he’s gay? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So I can’t just walk in and give you a hug?” Clay pouted, trying his best to use his puppy eyes on George. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stared into pools of emerald, finally letting himself submerge under the water. “Fine, but only </span>
  <em>
    <span>after </span>
  </em>
  <span>I bring up the ‘new setup’ topic. I want to come out by myself.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clay grinned as the alarm went off, practically bounding out of the room as George started his stream, “And put a shirt on before coming in!” </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>George watched as the viewer-count on his stream grew higher, breaking his own personal records. The chat whirled by, giving him deja vu of the last time he’d been on a stream. Flurries of questions, welcomings, and praises being thrown at him in a thousand voices, overwhelming him even more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, chat!” He turned his camera on, showing the empty room he and Clay had assembled his setup in. “I’m glad to be back with the rest of you!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone donated him five dollars, the text-to-speech function reading out the message: </span>
  <em>
    <span>We missed you, Gogy! </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An outpour of donations started coming through, questions upon questions demanding answers as he tried talking. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Your background looks different, did you move? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why did you leave us? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you going to explain the drunk stream? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He felt himself lose control, falling back into the pit of hopelessness as he watched a hundred thousand people yell at him through the internet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His phone chimed, a text from Clay showing on the screen. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’ll be alright. Deep breaths. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Following his lover’s advice, he steeled himself for the one-sided conversation he was about to have with his followers. They already knew everything, this was his time to make sure they knew in the way he wanted them to know. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As you all probably already know, a few weeks ago, Dream, Sapnap, and I hosted a drunk stream. Things got out of hand towards the end, and I said a few things that—” God, he sounds like he’s apologizing for getting canceled. “—I said a few things that I don’t necessarily regret, but just simply wish I could’ve said them in a better way.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waited for his words to finish going out, watching the viewers get through the delay. “So, I think it’s important for me, and the people I love, to tell the truth. I’m gay. I’ve been hiding this from you all, and I think it’s time to come out and say it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Purple hearts stormed through the chat, blocking out any readable words. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders, tears prickling the corner of his eyes as he watched his supporters stick by his side. Why had he been worrying this whole time? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coming to terms with my sexuality wasn’t really a problem with me; telling people was the issue. I’m glad that I have such a supportive and diverse fanbase that accepts me for who I am, and I hope that we can spread that further out,” he wrung his hands a bit, letting out a breath he’d been holding. “And now that I’ve explained the drunk stream, it’s time to address the change in background…” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i literally hate how this chapter turned out but whatever... thank you guys so much for the support on this fic, it's honestly amazing watching people read it! guys, i love reading the comments, please keep leaving them! i don't fucking care if it's just one word or if it's an entire essay, i WILL freak out reading it &lt;3 </p>
<p>i promise the next uptades will going to have actual plot :) </p>
<p>follow me on twitter @guccieyelash21 to hang out and fangirl over other fics! </p>
<p>btw: if you haven't seen already, between updates on this fic, i've posted other stories (very short, the longest has been like 700 words) about the dreamsmp! go read those, i promise you won't regret it ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter Eleven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’d always pictured himself showing his face at an event. Maybe at a meet-and-greet as he waved to screaming fans with his friends at his side. Going live with his facecam, watching everyone freak out as he revealed himself. </p><p>But Clay didn’t want to keep himself hidden for any longer. He wanted to post funny pictures of George without feeling embarrassed, he wanted to take videos of the two of them being cute so he could show the world how they loved, he wanted to go on a date in public without worrying if someone saw them or not. </p><p>
  <em> “And now that I’ve explained the drunk stream, it’s time to address the change in background…”  </em>
</p><p>He burst the door to the room open, walking in as he screamed, “I love you, George!” </p><p>George whirled around in his chair, rolling his eyes as Clay made kissy faces at him. The camera angle just barely stopped below his neck, showing off only the bottom of his body as he stood. </p><p>“Babe, you got <em> so </em>lucky with the camera,” the chat started to go insane, and he could already feel the millions of clips being posted on Twitter. </p><p>“Should we test our luck?” He got closer to the desk, throwing his hands over George’s shoulders from behind the chair, “Guys, every time you gift ten subs I’ll lower my head.” </p><p>“Clay!” George swatted him from the front, “We’re not doing that.” </p><p>He snickered, reading all the comments freak out over the fact that George called him ‘Clay’ instead of ‘Dream.’ It weirded him out because in this moment he <em> was </em>Clay. Dream was the man that sat behind the camera, the one who made the videos on YouTube, the guy who streamed every once in a while. Clay was the part of him who got to do things like this, let himself live for once, walk into his boyfriend’s stream, being domestic with their following. </p><p>“Fine,” he bent down and pressed a sloppy kiss to George’s cheek, making sure to create eye-contact with the camera as he pulled away and revealed his full face. The viewer-count reached astronomic levels, breaking records on the Twitch website. Multiple content creators were spamming in the chat, and something told him that Twitter was in actual shambles. </p><p>“Guys, this is some guy named Clay that I’m dating because I feel bad for him. He keeps telling me he’s Dream but I don’t really believe him,” George grabbed one of his hands, showing the camera their interlocked fingers as he spoke. “Anyway, here’s his face I guess. Don’t know why you all are freaking out.” </p><p>Clay snorted, “You’re such an idiot.” </p><p>“Whatever,” the brunet rolled his eyes. “Let’s hop on the SMP!” </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Karl’s flight to Texas finally landed at four in the morning after a number of delays. He sleepily stumbled through the airport, watching as other passengers sipped coffee in front of the doors. His heart had been thumping insanely fast in excitement from the minute he stepped inside the gates, eyes flickering wildly through the crowd as he looked for his boyfriend. </p><p>His phone rang in his pocket, “Hello?” </p><p>“I’m at the airport, nimrod! If you don’t get here in under five minutes I’m turning around and going home.”</p><p>“Look behind you.” </p><p>Heart thumping out of his chest, he turned and dropped his suitcase as he laid eyes on the love of his life. There he stood, brown hair with a light beard, eyes shining bright as he held his arms out. Karl took off in a run, crashing into him as the two of them finally made contact. </p><p>He didn’t miss the way Nick’s arms fit perfectly around his body. It felt like coming home after being away for so long, returning back to someone he’d been separated from. </p><p>“I’m so happy you’re here,” Nick whispered, tightening the hug. </p><p>Karl pulled back, smirking as he pressed his lips to the top of Nick’s forehead. He was about an inch taller than him, which made all the difference when it came to kissing-ability. </p><p>“I love you,” he giggled as he said it, watching the jubilation dance in his boyfriend’s eyes. </p><p>“I love you too.” </p><hr/><p>Nick’s apartment was small but cozy. Two loveseats sat around a coffee table in the main room, opening into the kitchen. The windows looked out into a beautiful view of a tiny patch of trees. The walls held a few pictures of his family, bare walls confirming the internet’s suspicions of him being a stereotypical white-boy. </p><p>“My bedroom is down that way,” the dark-haired man pointed down a hallway, “But I’ll show you that later. Do you want to do something? It’s barely six.” </p><p>“Is there a Starbucks open?” he pulled his shoes on as Nick grabbed the keys. “We can get coffee and then take cute pictures somewhere.” </p><p>They held hands as they walked to the car. They held hands while they drove. They held hands as they ordered their drinks. They held hands when on the bench while they drank their coffee. </p><p>
  <em> They held hands.  </em>
</p><p>The sun had risen above the horizon by the time they reached the park. It was quiet, chitters from restless birds and the soft buzz of nature acting as their white noise. A butterfly landed on a small stone a few feet away from them, flapping its wings as a greeting and then fluttering away. </p><p>“My grandma used to tell me a story about butterflies before she passed.” </p><p>Karl turned towards Nick, feeling his heart tighten at his quiet tone. “What did she say?” </p><p>“It wasn’t much, more of a promise. She and I had always been close, to the point where I used to prefer her house over mine,” he chuckled as he shook his head. Karl could tell his thoughts were someplace else, in a different time. “It wasn’t hard though, since money was so tight when I was little. But she made it seem like I was a prince living in a castle. She could spin these tales and create magical worlds, all while dealing with my parent’s debt and other problems.” </p><p>“She sounds like a strong woman.” </p><p>“Oh, she was the strongest. I couldn’t even think about her dying, she just seemed immortal to me,” Karl watched Nick smile, eyes searching for the butterfly that had flown away earlier. “The night before she passed— I guess I was about fifteen or sixteen— she sat me down in her backyard. It was during the summer, I was out of school, my parents had stable jobs, we finally moved out of our trashy apartment; life finally felt like it was good.”</p><p>Karl squeezed his boyfriend’s hand, gently tracing over his fingers with his thumb, offering his strength in quiet gestures. </p><p>“I remember watching the stars with her— the night was <em> so </em>clear, Karl. We literally saw the galaxy above us. She grabbed my shoulders and she said that whenever I needed her, a butterfly would fly past me. It was almost like she knew that it was her last day. The next morning she’d died in her sleep.” </p><p>“Do you think that was her, then?” the butterfly from before had returned, perched on the armchair of the bench. “Maybe she came to say hi.” </p><p>“She would’ve loved you.” </p><p>The burst of happiness that filled his chest was immeasurable. Tendrils of light flowing out of his chest as he failed at containing his smile. He felt so <em> warm </em>. Karl felt like he was glowing, fingertips leaving glitter everywhere he put them. His eyes had started to water a bit, happiness leaking out of his body. </p><p>“You think?” </p><p>“Fuck yeah, dude. I can literally hear her obsessing over you. My mom and she are practically the same, she’s going to love you too.” </p><p>He sniffled a bit, blushing as Nick laughed at him, “When do we get to meet your family, by the way?” </p><p>Karl closed his eyes as calloused hands wiped the fallen tears off his cheeks. “We can wait ‘till tomorrow or something. I don’t want to rush you.”</p><p>“Do they know about us?” </p><p>“They know I’m not straight,” Nick shrugged. “I’ve told my mom that I’m dating someone, but that’s the extent of it.” </p><p>Karl hummed, thinking it over. “We can come out to the public after I meet your parents. I feel like that’ll make it more…” he searched for the right word, “Solid? Almost like we can’t go back after telling everyone.” </p><p>“Yeah?” Nick had a shit-eating grin on his face, eyes full of affection so strong it made Karl’s knees weak. </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>He leaned forward, tentatively connecting his lips with Nick’s. The world around them stopped for half a second, daily life continuing after they broke apart. Karl giggled as the two of them got up from their spot and raced each other back to the car. </p><p>The butterfly watched the two of them leave the bench, wings fluttering in amusement. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The first few days for George after the reveal were bliss. </p><p>The two of them had slipped into a steady rhythm of productivity. Clay usually woke up earlier, which meant he’d cook breakfast, feed the cats, get ready; do the ‘morning chores’ of the house. George would wake up much later around noon, and he’d cook lunch, clean up the house, and do the laundry. During the evening, they’d take turns cooking dinner. </p><p>It worked for the two of them. Both of their schedules were synced up, allowing them to spend time together as well as alone time which was important in any relationship. </p><p>The only problem was how cut-off he felt from everyone back in England. He was five hours in the past now, catching up with his friends over brief thirty-minute calls where sentences were clipped and awkward, ending in soft goodbyes. Sometimes he would end calls not knowing whether or not he’d ever dial their number again, trying his hardest not to burst into tears at the thought. </p><p>Familial problems probably hurt the most. </p><p>His sister had reached out to him first, calling him in the middle of the night the day after he came out. </p><p>“Polly?” </p><p>“Hey, Georgie.” Her voice was soft, whispers barely traveling through his phone. </p><p>“Oh god, Polly. Are you alright?” </p><p>“I miss you, George,” her voice broke, shaking as she spoke. “I miss you a lot. Mum and dad have been so horrible, I can’t listen to them without tearing up.” </p><p>His own eyes had started tearing up, “I miss you too, Polly. Don’t listen to anything they say, love. We both know it’s not true.” </p><p>She sniffled, “It’s so lonely without you. They’ve forbidden me to talk about everything that’s happened. It’s like you don’t even exist— every family picture is off the walls.” </p><p>“I’m so sorry for leaving you there,” he apologized to the empty living room. “I promise, the moment you turn sixteen I’m moving you out.”</p><p>“That’s two whole years away.” Her sheets rustled, bed frame creaking as she shifted. “Sadie came over the other day.” </p><p>He perked up at the subject of his other sister. “How is she?” </p><p>“She was furious with the two of them. Said she won’t be coming back until they apologize to you.”</p><p>“And she’s leaving you alone there?” Rage bubbled inside him before it was quickly extinguished by the realization of his own hypocrisy. “Have you asked her to let you live with her?” </p><p>“I don’t think I want to.” </p><p>“Why not?” </p><p>“She relapsed,” a soft sigh following her words. </p><p>“Oh fuck,” he groaned, tears threatening to fall again. “And I assume she won’t be going to rehab?” </p><p>“I think it’s out of our hands now.”</p><p>They sat in the dark together, soft murmurs of apology exchanged back-and-forth as they caught up. </p><p>“I watched your stream by the way.” </p><p>He let a small smile climb over his face, “Did you?” </p><p>“Yeah. I think he looks nice. I’d like to meet him when I come over.” </p><p>“You’ll like him, Polly. He has a cat too, her name is Patches,” the feline purred at the sound of her name. “I promise, I’m getting you out of there the moment you turn sixteen.” </p><p>“I’m looking forward to it.” </p><p>He chuckled, “I love you, Polly. Go to sleep, it’s getting late.”</p><p>“Love you too, George.” </p><p>He’d ended the call as regret started to rear its ugly face in his head. His defenseless fourteen-year-old sister was stuck back at that house, forced to live with his horrid parents. It was two years until he’d legally be allowed to move her in with him, which would be a huge task on its own. </p><p>George had slipped back into bed, restlessly waiting until it was acceptable for him to start his day again. Clay wasn’t aware of his predicament, and he’d make sure he wouldn’t find out. </p><p>He brought this upon himself, he would deal with it on his own.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the angst starts: now! hehehe, get ready because we're in for a long haul. </p><p>i finally wrote in some more karlnap, our perfect boys needed some more attention. </p><p>thank you guys so much for the support on this story. i literally can't even put into words how much i appreciate it. comments are the best to receive, y'all! </p><p>follow me on twitter: @guccieyelash21<br/>i post updates for the fic on there! i'd also love to connect with you all and hangout, too :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter Twelve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Good morning,” Clay carded his fingers through his hair, watching as George groggily sat down on the kitchen stools. Their days often started like this, an overly enthusiastic Clay interacting with George, who was still grumpy from waking up. It was almost one in the afternoon and he was getting ready to order lunch. “Do you want anything to eat?”</p><p>George pinched the bridge of his nose, furrowing his brows, “I’ve got a headache. I don’t think I’ll be able to stomach anything.”</p><p>He hummed in understanding, turning towards the sink. He filled a glass of water and pulled an aspirin from the cabinets, grabbing a granola bar from the counter. “You can’t take a pill on an empty stomach, eat this at least.” </p><p>George mumbled thanks, swallowing the pill. He took slow bites out of his granola bar, eyes staring at something in the room. Clay sang softly to himself as he ordered a sandwich from a nearby restaurant, making sure to get an extra for his boyfriend just-in-case. They fell into a comfortable silence, listening to George chew softly on his food and Clay’s phone tapping. </p><p>It surprised Clay how much they fit together. Despite personalities being on different ends of the spectrum, the two of them made decisions almost exactly the same way. They barely argued over mundane things as he used to in past relationships, quiet agreements and compromises slipping out of their mouths instead. </p><p>Clay stirred from his spot, “I’m heading out to get groceries, wanna come with?” </p><p>“Alright,” George finished his bar, taking a sip of water. “Give me ten minutes to get ready.” </p><hr/><p>The sweltering heat of the sun blinded him as he drove, eyes squinted against the light. The air conditioners did nothing, circulating hot air as they listened to the shitty radio-music. George had his hands in front of his face, shielding him from the rays. Clay remembered something about colorblind people having sensitive eyes as he watched him. </p><p>“We’re buying an aux cord for your car,” George muttered, turning down the volume of the speaker. “If I have to listen to the same song one more time I think I’ll throw myself off the balcony.” </p><p>Clay snorted, “C’mon, it’s not <em> that </em>bad.”</p><p>“I think it’s doubled my headache into a migraine.” </p><p>“So pushy,” he grinned, taking George’s hand in his. “I can’t believe you’re the oldest child in your family.” </p><p>George visibly froze, hand going becoming frigid in his palm. His eyes quickly went from where they were looking at Clay’s in the front-view mirror to the passenger’s window. Clay’s own heart started thumping a little faster. </p><p>
  <em> Did I already fuck up?  </em>
</p><p>He waited for a few minutes, searching for a response. “George?”</p><p>The sound of a sharp intake of breath. </p><p>“Yeah?” </p><p>He cleared his throat, “Are you— You alright?” </p><p>“Yeah, I uh— I just got a bit dizzy, actually. Do you mind if I sit in the car while you’re at the store? I’ll help you out with the next.” </p><p>Clay could tell this wasn’t a question. “Yeah, of course. I’ll only be a few minutes.” </p><p>He parked in front of the Walmart, placing a small kiss on George’s cheek as he left the door. The Brit exchanged a small smile in return, whispering goodbye as Clay turned and left. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“Good morning sleepy,” Karl sang softly, caressing the younger’s hair. </p><p>Nick cracked open his eyelids, taking in Karl’s body as his eyes cleared up from the slumber-caused fog. The sun seemed to be well up in the sky, the city’s life bustling about as his body buzzed into action. Both of them were wearing fewer clothes than they had gone to bed in, an intimate night replaying in his mind. </p><p>He groaned in greeting, throwing his arm over Karl, pulling him closer. He took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of both their scents mixed together. “When’d you get up?” </p><p>“Like twenty minutes ago,” Karl giggled. “Was waiting for you to get up.” </p><p>“Sorry.” </p><p>“No worries,” Karl resumed his caressing. “Do we have any plans for today?” </p><p>“I didn’t really think to do that stuff,” he felt his face grow warm, burying it into his pillow. “But there’s this fine arts museum like fifteen minutes away. I’ve been meaning to go, actually. It looks cool.” </p><p>He raised an eyebrow, “You want to go to an art gallery?” </p><p>“It’s not an art <em> gallery </em>, it’s a museum.” </p><p>“Oh, because the difference is <em> that </em>much.” </p><p>Nick rolled his eyes, lifting his head slightly from his pillow to snuggle it in Karl’s neck, “We don’t have to go to the museum if you don’t want to, I just thought it’d be fun.” </p><p>“No, let’s go to the museum. It’s just funny to see you get annoyed,” Karl’s fingers traced ghostly circles onto the bare skin on Nick’s back, setting infernos ablaze with the simple touch. </p><p>He shifted so he was leaning on his forearms, pushing Karl under him. He bent down and left trailing kisses on the brunet’s neck, stopping at his lips. The energy between them became erratic, heartbeats speeding up as their bodies traveled on autopilot, begging for more. </p><p>Maybe it was good they woke up naked. </p><hr/><p>The outside of the museum stood tall above them as they headed to the entrance. The exterior of the building was modern, with tall glass windows and black architecture. Nick assumed the lights on the pavement were used to light the walls during the night. Maybe they’d come back after sunset to see those. </p><p>They walked into a long, expensive-looking room with paintings hung on the walls. Karl read the descriptions out loud to him as he looked at the art, trying to find the meaning in each brushstroke. </p><p>He failed miserably. </p><p>They passed through different exhibits, poking fun at drawings and statues of nude people, posing as them as they walked by. They almost got kicked out after Nick let out an embarrassingly high-pitched shriek at a sculpture of a severed head. </p><p>The two of them stepped into a hallway, eyes assaulted with blue lighting. The white walls and floor were showered in the color, stretching until the end. </p><p>“How is <em> this </em>art?” Karl asked. </p><p>Nick ushered him through the hallway, noticing the dirty looks from the other museum-goers, “Keep your voice down, dude. You can’t say that shit here.” </p><p>“Sorry,” he murmured, the smirk on his face disproving his apology. </p><p>Soon after that incident, they left the gallery, visiting a small local restaurant for lunch. The place was small, with only a few seating options scattered about the premise. The people eating looked happy enough, and the place would have to be burning to turn away Nick’s hunger. He led Karl to a small seat near the back, opening the menus in front of them. </p><p>His eyes trailed to a good-looking chicken sandwich. He hadn’t had a good one in a while. Hopefully, this one would satisfy him; the ratings on it looked pretty good. Making mental note of the name, he flipped the menu, searching for drinks.</p><p>“Nick,” Karl whispered across the table, pulling on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. </p><p>“Yeah?” he replied, not looking up from the menu. </p><p>“I think there’s a group of fans here.” </p><p>His eyes moved from the page to Karl, and then, slowly, to the side. His eyes searched for curious eyes and nervous glances, pushing down the anxiety he’s started to feel. His gaze fell on a table of a few teenagers, two boys, a girl, and two confused-looking parents. He made eye-contact with the girl, who blushed and quickly turned away, whispering furiously to the rest of her friends. </p><p>“What do we do?” </p><p>He hissed quietly in frustration, running a hand through his hair to calm himself. “I guess we just go along with it if they come over. There’s no point in asking them to keep it under wraps.” </p><p>Karl looked at them again through the corner of his eye, “We haven’t done anything since we’ve been here, right? Nothing that would make it obvious that…” </p><p>He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Nick didn’t have an answer, no snarky comeback, no reassuring words. Utter dread washed over him as the inevitable approached them, bright eyes and innocent smiles. </p><p>The girl he’d met eyes with slowly stopped in front of their table, the boys flanking each of her sides, “Are you guys Karl and Sapnap?” </p><p>“Uh, yeah!” He cleared his throat, putting on a smile for the group. He’d never experienced being recognized in public before, which meant he had no experience trying not to be awkward in front of fans. </p><p>Karl, handled the situation quicker than Sapnap, shifting upward in his seat and offering a small side-hug to the girl. “Did you guys want a picture?” </p><p>She nodded quickly, elbowing the boy on her right. He pulled out his phone and pulled up the camera, holding it out so it was angeled towards the two of them. </p><p>“1… 2… 3,” and then it was done. The photo was saved onto the phone, waiting to be uploaded to the internet for millions to see. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>jesus fucking christ i am SO sorry for being MIA these past two weeks. i swear i'm not doing it on purpose i just got so goddamn busy and was completely unable to write. the good news is that i'll be able to start posting again! this chapter was not up to my standards, but i felt like i needed to put this one out so you guys don't think i'm dead. </p><p>thank you so much for the support! even through this tiny hiatus i've seen people commenting and leaving kudos, which genuinely FUELS me to write more! i love all of you guys &lt;3 </p><p>follow me on twitter: @guccieyelash21<br/>i post updates for the fic on there! i'd also love to connect with you all and hangout, too :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter Thirteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>just a lil TW if you haven't read the tags: </p><p>mention of drug use/abuse, as well as depression. it's not graphic, but it is mentioned so read at your own risk!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George tried his best not to remain subsided for the remainder of their grocery trip. He offered forced smiles to his partner, making an effort to engage in conversation. Chose snacks he knew he’d never eat just to make it look like he was trying. He went through all the hoops, pointing out the shocking large portion sizes in American food. </p><p>It seemed to work for the most part. Clay’s features relaxed. His brows unfurrowed and his face lost that slightly red tint it got whenever he became nervous. An easy grin painted itself onto his mouth, and a bit of George’s heart melted into the color. </p><p>The brit played into this little game for the next few days. He opted out of joining late-night streams much to his friends’ dismay, using the free time to make sure his sister was safe through the night (which was her early mornings). He’d return to bed long after the streams had ended, sneaking under the covers to join Clay’s silent breathing and rhythmic heartbeat. </p><hr/><p>He can’t remember anything before the call came in. Maybe he had plans that day. He might’ve streamed, edited a video, caught up with what was going on in the world. He had a whole life he could’ve lived, but one simple dial during the afternoon messed everything up. </p><p>His phone buzzed from the bedside table, clacking against the hardwood surface of the drawers. Without reading the contact name, he held the speaker up to his ear, muttering a half-assed imitation of him with full energy. Next to him, Clay shifted groggily through his sleep. </p><p>“George?” </p><p>“Yes? Who is this?” </p><p>“George it’s me, Sadie.” </p><p>Goosebumps traveled up his spine and arms, pulling him out of the comfortable fog of slumber he’d previously been in. His grip on the phone became ten times tighter, fingers turning white from the sheer force. </p><p>“Sadie?” </p><p>A small chuckle came from the line, but no humor echoed behind it. “You couldn’t recognize my voice?” </p><p>“Why would I? You haven’t called me in over three years.” His heart started beating faster, brows furrowing as he replied. </p><p>“Three years and you’ve completely forgotten your big sister?” </p><p>“Three years and you’ve completely forgotten your <em> little </em>brother? Your little sister?” He mocked her tone. Beside him, Clay stilled, sheets rustling into a stagnant silence. </p><p>“At least I still cared about you. The moment I heard what happened I rushed right back home to yell at mum and dad.” Sadie scoffed.</p><p>“What? And I didn’t? I called you every day for an entire year after you left. Even after, I still texted you. And for what? No reply, no messages, no confirmation or <em> anything </em>.” He felt himself boiling over and took a moment to deepen his breaths, “The only way I still knew you were alive was because of the fucking letter from the rehab center.” </p><p>“It’s not my fault you’re clingy.” </p><p>He clamped his jaw, grinding his teeth to stop himself from screaming into the phone. Sadie took the silence as an opportunity to keep speaking. </p><p>“Rehab was a waste of money. I just paid it off, but I’m short on money now. My shift at work isn’t long enough and I’m pretty sure they’re thinking about laying me off.” </p><p>“Okay, and? How am I supposed to help you with that?” </p><p>“I need money, asshole. I’m fucking broke and I need money.” </p><p>He ran his tongue over his top teeth, going over the obvious implication of what she was going to do with his money, “You’re going to use that for drugs.” </p><p>“So?” </p><p>“What do you mean, ‘so?’ I’m not sending you rent that you’re going to blow off on coke. I have actual people that I need to take care of, now.” </p><p>Sadie snorted, “Like who?”</p><p>“Like Polly. Our baby sister,” he blurted out in fury, sitting up in bed. “She’s stuck back at that fucking hellhole of a house! She’s the one who gets the money, not some greedy bitch like you.” </p><p>“What the hell is your plan? You’re going to send her money for the next two years? How is she supposed to receive all that? She has no way of getting it.”</p><p><em> She’s right. </em>“Whatever the plan is, you’re not hearing any of it.” George ran an angry hand through his hair, fingers getting caught on small tangles. “Quit doing drugs, Sadie. That shit is ruining your life.” </p><p>“You have no idea what I’m going through.” </p><p>“Yeah, because you don’t <em> tell </em>me. Tell me, Sadie! I’ll be the first one to get in line and fucking get you out of whatever is ruining your life, but you don’t let me.” </p><p>“Because I don’t want you to!” Sadie screamed it into the phone, causing George to flinch even across the ocean. “The drugs make shit fun, life is so boring without them.” </p><p>“Life isn’t boring, Sadie. You’re depressed and just won’t admit to yourself.” He side-eyed his boyfriend from where he was sitting. Clay had turned over at this point, staring quizzically at George, “This is a serious problem, now.” </p><p>“Fuck you, George. Don’t ever call me again, don’t text me, don’t look for me, and don’t, for the love of <em> god </em>, try to help me.” </p><p>“Sadie—” the line cut off. </p><p>He lowered his hand from his ear, staring at the black screen of his phone in his lap. He twiddled his thumbs for a good thirty seconds, thoughts racing through his head. Guilt started to form in his stomach again, crawling up his veins like starving monkeys at a zoo. He blew out a deep breath, raising his head and making eye-contact with Clay, who stared at him with widened eyes. </p><p>They looked at each other in silence for a moment, realization unfurling in his lover’s eyes as George fought the feeling of vomit. He let himself spiral away for a bit, closing his eyes and leaning against the headboard. He listened to the bed creak and bounce as Clay sat up too. The air condition stopped whirring, further emptying the room of any life. </p><p>The sinking feeling in his heart confirmed that any lines between him and his sister had been completely severed. </p><p>After an eternity of painful stillness, Clay spoke. “Who was that?” </p><p>“Sadie’s my older sister.” </p><p>A beat passes. </p><p>“I only thought you had one?”</p><p>“Polly’s my younger sister, she’s fourteen now. But, I have an older one too. Sadie’s four years older than me, and we weren’t that close growing up. She got into drugs from an early age, and my parents kicked her out when I was twelve.” George opened his eyes and stared at the wall. A painting of colors sat on the wall, but he could only see various shades of blue and yellow. “She used to talk to me, but a few years back I got nothing but radio silence. I guess I never told you guys because I was so used to hiding the fact that she existed.”</p><p>“What was she asking for?” He spoke slowly, hesitating before every word. </p><p>“Money. What else?” George let out a dark chuckle. “She hasn’t called in three years, and the one time she does it’s for drug money.” </p><p>“George, I’m—”</p><p>He put his palm on his boyfriend’s cheek, “Don’t.” </p><p>Clay nodded slowly, clearing his throat and changing the subject. “What were you talking about with Polly? You said something about her needing help.” </p><p>“It’s my parents— they’re horrible to her. They’re deadset on making her the ‘perfect’ kid after two failed attempts, which means they’ve become ten times stricter.” </p><p>“Oh god, that’s…” </p><p>“Yeah, I know,” he nodded in agreeance. “I’ve been trying to get her out of there for the past week or so, but I don’t know. There’s no one in England that can take her in, I’m her best bet. But bringing her over to America?” </p><p>“It’s hard, but it can be done, right? Maybe there are loopholes or something.” </p><p>“There is one. Through her school. They’re doing an exchange-student-type program, and one of the schools that she can swap with is really close to where we live.” </p><p>He’d talked with her about it one night. She was in the second half of the school year, meaning that once British education ended for the summer, Polly could technically stay in the United States for as long as she wanted. That meant if she applied to the American school, there’d be a slim chance she could stay with George. The problem arises, however, with their parents. </p><p>“And she can stay with us if she goes through with it,” Clay said. </p><p>“It’s the best way. But she needs to get a guardian to sign the papers and agree to send her over,” George sighed. “Maybe if she tells them we don’t live in Florida or something? But that opens shit up legally.” </p><p>“There’s gotta be a way,” Clay reached over and grabbed the Macbook on his nightstand, opening it up and setting it on his lap. George scooted closer, resting his body against Clay to get a better view. </p><p>They stayed like that for a long time, going over hundreds of sites explaining immigration and the rights of minors wanting to get away from bad households. They were well into another useless article when George's phone chimed. </p><p> </p><p>Polly: </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I have a plan. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hello!!! hope u guys like this chapter, it's shorter and i'm very sorry but the next one is going to have a lot more stuff so get ready! there might be a bit of delay between now and then, just because i want to put more work and effort into that one. i don't want this story to keep going on for so long, and we're getting into the final parts now :)</p><p>i've released two or three one-shots since then, (they're not all dnf, so i'd give them a read) and i plan on doing so more! those usually come out whenever there are lore streams, because that's how i retain the info LMAO</p><p>follow me on twitter: @guccieyelash21<br/>i post updates for the fic on there! i'd also love to connect with you all and hangout, too :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter Fourteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“She has a plan.” </p><p>Clay watched George as his eyes skimmed over his phone screen, brows furrowing as he read the texts. </p><p>He looked back at the computer sitting in his lap. </p><p>How long was George dealing with this problem? Clay remembered him mentioning that it’d been a week, but something told him the issue had been forming long before that. What worried him more was the fact his boyfriend didn’t <em> tell </em>him that he’d been struggling. </p><p>The brunet had a history of struggling with his inner feelings and properly communicating what he actually felt. Clay always assumed that the little hiccup would pass, but it seemed as though it’d only gotten worse. An ugly knot in his brain hissed that it was his fault George wasn’t comfortable enough with sharing his thoughts with him. </p><p><em> Shut up </em>, he pushed against it. </p><p>“Hold on,” George said. “She’s calling.” </p><p>He turned back and looked at his boyfriend, glancing down at the phone as he answered the call. The sound of a fan came from the speakers before a voice whispered through the noise. </p><p>“Hello?” </p><p>“Polly, I’m with Clay.” George set his phone next to the computer. “He’s gonna help us.” </p><p>Clay cleared his throat, locking eyes with George who nodded in reassurance. “Hello, Polly.” </p><p>“Hi,” she replied. </p><p>An awkward silence introduced itself before George graciously took charge again, steering the conversation back to why it first started. </p><p>“What was your idea? You said you’d thought of something.” </p><p>The blonde opened a new tab in the browser, creating a new sheet in Google Docs as the fourteen-year-old spoke. In the title, he wrote <em> Escape Plan.  </em></p><p>“Yesterday, before going home from school, I paid a visit to the front office,” she started. “The signature that I need to transfer from here to America doesn’t have to belong to a parent, George. It could be any guardian listed in the database.” </p><p>George’s eyes widened, “Any guardian in the database—”</p><p>“Oh my god,” Clay whispered. </p><p>“—Mum and Dad haven’t taken George off on any documents since he left, I’m pretty sure they’ve forgotten,” she paused for a moment. A clatter echoed from a house as Polly quieted. The ruckus died down after a second, and she started whispering again. “Listen, I don’t know how much longer I have— I’ve emailed you a copy of the sheet. Sign it digitally and then send it back so I can submit it.” </p><p>Clay opened Gmail and handed the Macbook to George, taking the phone from him in exchange, “Alright, Polly. We’ll handle it from here.” </p><p>“Goodbye.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Karl and Nick made a beeline for Nick’s parents right after finishing lunch. Barely done chewing their food after shoving it into the mouths, the pair jumped into the car and practically sped through traffic. At this point, they were battling against time <em> and </em>the brains of nosy fans. </p><p>Luckily, Nick’s parents weren’t the most tech-savvy duo. </p><p>They’d let in the couple oblivious to the absolute frenzy that social media had been thrown into. They’d served them a second helping of lunch that Karl managed to squeeze into his already full stomach, and then, the talk. </p><p>“Mom, Dad, before we go, I need to tell you something,” Nick looked at Karl, “<em> We </em>need to tell you something.” Karl put his hand on Nick’s shoulder, rubbing small circles into it as the Texan spoke. </p><p>“I think you can remember this, but a few months ago I came out to you guys, and also told you I was dating someone.” </p><p>“Of course we remember, dear.” Nick’s mom said lovingly, planting a kiss on her son’s forehead. </p><p>She was a kind-looking woman, with short black hair that matched her kid’s. She had smile lines around her mouth, and her eyes showed an intelligence that she kept hidden from the world. </p><p>“We support you no matter the circumstance, son.” Nick’s father, on the other hand, was extremely intimidating. </p><p>Karl almost pissed his pants when meeting him, pouring all his strength into maintaining eye-contact with the burly man. His salt and pepper hair made him look like a businessman, the kind from movies that always hid secrets. He wore dark, blocky, glasses that clung smartly to his face and dressed like he was attending a job interview. </p><p>Despite his outward appearance though, the guy was amazingly sweet. </p><p>“I really appreciate that,” Nick continued talking. “So, knowing that, I’m excited— and a bit nervous— to tell you that Karl is my boyfriend.”</p><p>Karl held his breath, bracing himself for a bad reaction. Instead, he was pulled into a group hug, Nick’s mother wrapping her arms around him. </p><p>They pulled away from each other, and the woman wiped a stray tear that’d fallen down Karl’s cheek sometime during the whole interaction, “I’m so happy for you two!” </p><p>“I’m happy, too,” Karl replied, beaming up at Nick. </p>
<hr/><p>Maybe they’ve been ready after all. </p><p>They reached back to the apartment a few hours later. The sun started to set as the two of them cuddled on the couch, watching random videos that came up in the recommendation. Autoplay had taken over their plans early on, as the two seemed to find everything funnier when they were together. </p><p>“Should we do it, then?” </p><p>Karl’s head was in Nick’s lap, eyes closed as his boyfriend ran his fingers through his hair. “Come out?” </p><p>Nick hummed in confirmation. </p><p>It’d be stupid not to, wouldn’t it? Their main concern, which was their parents, was non-existent now. They have nothing to worry about anymore. The fans would obviously still support them, as would their friends. </p><p>All they’ve got to do is push the button labeled ‘post.’ Click ‘make public’ on the video. Press ‘go live’ on the stream. </p><p>And then it’s all over. No more secrets, no more sneaking around. Simply authenticity. </p><p>Only love. </p><p>Just themselves, a camera, and millions of fans. It seems easier knowing he has nothing to lose, now. All he needs is sitting with him on a loveseat in Texas. </p><p>“Yeah, let’s do it.” </p><p>He lifted himself up, cupping Nick’s face in his palm. He connected their lips, saying everything and nothing through the gesture. Even if the whole world decided to combust, Karl knew that they had each other. They were going to be alright. </p><p>They were ready. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>George didn’t hear back from Polly for the next two days. For those entire forty-eight hours, he and Clay anxiously bit their nails, pacing the house back and forth as they waited for an update. Sometimes they would fake getting work done, but the other always knew it was just pretending. </p><p>In some twisted way, it warmed George’s heart how much Clay actually cared about Polly. His first interaction with her was the call that took place in their bedroom, and yet the man already submerged himself knee-deep in the situation. He took time out of his own life, day, career, just to stand by George’s side. He offered him his complete attention, no matter how busy he was. </p><p>On the other end of the stick, it also made the knot in his stomach tangle more. He knew that Clay felt hurt over the fact that George hid such an important piece of information from him. Despite everything, the Floridian still trusted him enough to give him everything. There were points over the two-day time period in which he wanted to say something, but every effort felt too forced. </p><p>His phone finally rang right after a late-night recording session with Alex. The energetic man was stock-piling pre-recorded videos, claiming he wanted content to put out while he visited all his friends in the United States. George couldn’t complain, he was well excited to finally meet Alex, too. </p><p>Clay scrambled to find the phone with George, upturning pillows and throwing things off the desks to try and find the noise. They found it wedged between the couch cushions in the room, picking it up and putting it on speaker. </p><p>“Hello? Polly?” George answered, hands clasped in Clay’s. Their knuckles were white from the grip, but neither one of them cared. </p><p>“It worked!” </p><p>Clay sprang up from his seat, screaming like he’d just won a football game. George also yelled in jubilation, shoulders drooping from lack of pressure in god-knows-how-long. Relief finally washed over him, waterfalls letting out the harboring tension that was building up inside him. </p><p>“You’re going to be with me, again,” he breathed into the phone, face red from the influx in emotion. “You’re going to be safe.” </p><p>“Thank the lord,” she said back. Her voice was wobbly from ease too, throat coated with unshed happy-tears. </p><p>Clay pulled George’s head against his chest, still standing in front of the sofa, “When do you think you’ll be getting here? And how?” </p><p>“Since it’s through school, all I need to do is pay for the plane ticket. I’ll catch a bus with the rest of the exchange-students to the airport, and then it’s smooth-sailing from there. My passport still holds from our last vacation,” she said. “I’ve just got to leave a note for our parents.” </p><p>“Christ—” George buried his face further into Clay’s chest, inhaling the lingering smell of cologne on his shirt. “You’re going to be attending school here. There’s no more to worry about.” </p><p>“You can’t fathom how good it feels to hear that,” Polly sighed. “I think I hear them coming back home.”</p><p>“Make sure they don’t find out before then,” the blond reminded them. </p><p>“Of course.” The line crackled a bit, the sound cutting out over the speakers. </p><p>“Be safe, Polly,” George felt like a broken record, only being able to think the words <em> she’s safe </em>in his head over-and-over. </p><p>The next time I call you, it’ll be on Friday, alright? I’ll text you airport details. Love you, goodbye.” </p>
<hr/><p>Clay’s arms held George wrapped close to him as they laid in bed. </p><p>They ordered pizza for dinner, finishing the entire box along with the twelve-piece chicken wings that came with, putting on a movie to accompany them. Karl and Nick <em> FaceTimed </em>them half-way through their dinner, gushing to them about how they’d just come out. </p><p>Everyone was happy, and it made him happy. </p><p>Except for the nagging feeling that he felt like he was doing something wrong. He’d been doing everything he thought was in his power to make George feel comfortable, but for some reason he’d hidden the entire Polly-fiasco away from him until last minute. If Clay hadn’t ever found out, what would George have done? How long would he not have heard about any of it? </p><p>His lover shifted, voice thick with sleep. They hadn’t had a proper night’s rest in over two days, and both of them were starting to get delusional, “What are you thinking about?”</p><p>Of course he read Clay’s mind. </p><p>“Do you trust me, George?” </p><p>The brunet sighed, confirming Clay’s suspicion that he’d been thinking about it too. “With my entire life.” </p><p>“Then why didn’t you—” </p><p>George cut him off, “—Because I felt like it would bother you. I didn’t want to feel like I was a burden, so I kept it to myself.” </p><p>Clay let it sink in. </p><p>Selfless George, always thinking about anyone other than himself, no matter how horrible it would make it for him in the long run. He should’ve seen it coming. This was the same guy who’d dropped everything to save Clay’s life, after all. </p><p>“You’re an idiot, you know that?” He pressed his lips to George’s forehead, keeping his mouth pressed against his soft skin while he muttered. “Nothing you could ever do would make you a burden. That’s literally the whole reason I’m here, babe. You’re supposed to tell me these things so I can <em> help </em>you.” </p><p>“I’m sorry.” George inched closer, snuggling under the blankets.</p><p>“Don’t do it again, stupid.” </p><p>“I love you.” </p><p>“I love you, too.” </p><p>Life isn’t full of only happy endings. That’s just the way the universe works. However, she always makes sure to grant everyone a way to make living easier. She might seem confusing at first, but you always need to make twists and turns to reach your final destination. </p><p>He’ll need to make wrong turns, but with George, Clay knows that he’d always find his way back. </p><p>They’ll be alright. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>and that's the end, folks! </p><p>first of all, i want to thank each and every one of you for sticking with this, even through the horrible hiatuses and stretches of radio-silence from my end. the support on this story is fucking mind-blowing, and i'm so glad that there were people that actually ENJOYED reading this. </p><p>secondly, this isn't the last of me! this particular story-line and universe is done, but i'm still going to be writing :) whether or not there'll be any long multi-chapter fics like this, i can't say, but i'm able to confirm that there will still be works from me. </p><p>i know everyone says this and you all are probably so tired of hearing this, but GUYSSS writers appreciate the nice comments, kudos, support, and whatever SO MUCH. we live for that shit, it's what fucking keeps us going, dude. you all kept me going &lt;3 </p><p>i love you all. thank you again, from the bottom of my heart. </p><p>[fucking glad this is over though, it went on for way longer than i wanted it to LMAO]</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this chapter is very short, and it's only because i'm using it as an introduction/start to the story. just to test the waters. feel free to leave comments &lt;3 thank you for checking it out!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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